


The Life and Times of a Gotham 'Wallflower'

by GlidingOne



Series: The Life and Times of Annie Simon [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Self-Insert, She isn't the best wallflower, She should have run when she had the chance, Should have read DC comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 09:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlidingOne/pseuds/GlidingOne
Summary: My names not Annie, even if every one keeps insisting it is. And I don't know how I ended up in Gotham - because f***. I'd been more of a Marvel fan. But I suppose it's cool, as long as I don't die in the process.- A/N I have a plan for where this is going to go.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The first time I wake up, I am confused. Because I shouldn’t be waking up. At all. Because I am pretty sure I had died. Except that I am much too uncomfortable to be dead. There is something stuck down my throat, making it a little too difficult to breathe.

It is weird. I had not thought I’d survive that gunshot to the head, but the noise from the monitors, and the voice on the comm system inform me that “Dr. Smith you’re needed in Ward B.” I’m quite confused.

“Mom?” I try to ask through the tube obstructing my oxygen.

Someone answers, “Sweetheart?” Only that’s not my mom’s voice.

“Mom?” My voice turns higher in pitch because I’m in a bit of a panic. Where am I? Where’s mom? Why isn’t she answering?

“Annie, it’s alright! Mommy’s here.”

_You’re not mom. That’s not my name. You’re not my mom! My mom has an accent! My name is - my name is - I know my name isn’t Annie!_

“Mom!” The monitors are having a little bit of a field day, beeping irregularly and telling the world that my heart is beating faster than normal.

“It’s alright Annie.” Whoever this woman is, _not mom_ , she’s crying. I can’t figure out why. But the woman is holding onto my hand and sobbing as nurses swarm around me, holding me down, trying to calm me down, demanding a sedative. The machines are even rattling, as if in agreement that I just need to get out of there. Why do they need a sedative? Just let me out or get me mom - my _real_ mom!

My last coherent thought isn’t finished. _My name is -_

_______

The second time I wake up, I’m not as much in a panic. For one, the tube is no longer clogging up my airway, and I am able to take betterstock of my surroundings. I’m in a private hospital room filled with cards that look as if they were made by eight year olds and balloons that look as if they’re for a child. I’m still confused, though. I can’t remember my name.

“Annie?”

I turn to a woman that is rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She’s pretty, in a way. But she’s not mom. And Annie’s not my name.

“Who are you?”

So, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to ask that woman, because she immediately starts crying.

“Oh, Annie!”

“Mrs. Simon?” Asks a nurse that had just walked through the door with a tray of what I assume is medicine - or maybe more sedatives.

“She can’t remember! She doesn’t know who I am.”

I almost feel bad, because this woman is in tears. The nurse gives the woman - _Mrs. Simon?_ \- a sympathetic look, and pulls her aside to talk. I can still hear, though.

“It happens sometimes. It was a head injury that caused her to go into the coma in the first place. It’s probably retrograde amnesia. She may get her memories back, but there’s no guarantee. The best thing to do at this point would be to be patient with her.”

Mrs. Simon spends a good five minutes trying to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes.

I’m not really sure what to say as Mrs. Simon sits down again, so I repeat my question.

“Who are you?”

“I’m. . . I’m your mother. You’re my . . . your name is Annie Simon. You’re ten years old. And you’re my daughter.”

Wow. Every single word that woman just said was wrong.

Because it has to be. My mother is most definitely _not_ this woman. My name is . . . well it isn’t Annie Simon, I know _that_ much. And I am a grown woman, twenty two years old and counting.

Only, as I looks down to my hands that look too small, I notice my chest - or lack of one. It’s a bit jarring. I’d been quite proud of it.

I look back at the woman, studying her face - it’s pretty open and raw and everything that a mother’s face _should_ be when you’re trying to convince your child that you are who you say you are.

And a small part of me wants to believe Mrs. Simon. She must have really loved her daughter.

So I answer, “okay” and pick up the woman’s hand. “Tell me more, please.”

_____

Annie Simon - I’m trying not to think of her as me - had been in a coma for a year after the accident that took her father’s life.

It had been a drunk driver - “Mr. Luthor, he’s paying for your medical bills, now that bast- sorry” - in the middle of the night and paramedics were a bit swamped because of some reason that Mrs. Simon refused to get into with her ten year daughter. The car - for some reason, I was imagining a silver Lexus, probably because the driver was name Luthor, and the arch nemesis of Superman was all that my brain could conjure up - had to swerve five times because the drunk driver - Mr. Luthor (Mrs. Simon kept correcting herself) - kept switching lanes, and caused the car, I still couldn’t get the image of a silver Lexus out of my head, to flip three times before landing in a ditch. Apparently, I was out of it by the time paramedics arrived and they pronounced ‘me’ brain dead within a few hours.

Mrs. Simon refused to pull the plug, though. Annie was all she had left.

“What color was the car?” I really had to know. I’d probably have nightmares of different colors, make, and models if I didn’t.

“Mr. Luthor’s?”

“That, yes. But also . . . dad’s car.” It feels a bit wrong to call him dad, but for some reason I’m ten years old now, and if it’ll get me the information I want, then I’ll grit my teeth and do it.

Mrs. Simon doesn’t say much for a while. “Your father had a black sedan. The other one was a black sports car, a Lexus, like the man that drove it. I never knew cars like your father. He was a mechanic, you know.”

No, actually, I didn’t know. But cool. I wish I could have learned from him. I always liked learning new things, and being able to take apart a car and put it back together again would have been cool to know.

Though that also brings up the problem of money. I wonder if Mrs. Simon has a job, because the yearly wage of a mechanic can’t be _that_ much, and considering he’s been dead for a year . . .

“Anyway, I refused to let them turn the machines off and you’ve been in a coma ever since.” Mrs. Simon looks at me, and probably realizes that a ten year old shouldn’t really know what that means. “You had to be asleep for a long time.”

Mrs. Simon is crying again, and I - I’m Annie I remind myself, because after a story like that, to just disregard the name like that would just be cruel - pat her back. It might bring a little comfort to her.

“They never expected you to wake up, to be honest. But, Annie, I’m here, okay? We’re going to be fine. That man’s money paid for the bill anyway.”

I honestly wonder who this Luther guy is that killed my ‘father’, however involuntarily it may have been. Though it would probably be better to not dwell on the matter. Annie is alive - I’m alive - and that’s all that really matters at this point.

_____

The hospital discharge papers were processed that week so that by Friday afternoon I’m on my way out in a wheelchair. Mrs. Simon has a bright red Toyota SUV now. A bright red Toyota SUV - as if to say here I am! Crash into me if you dare! It’s honestly kind of funny, if I think about it long enough.

The city is interesting to look at though. I'm reminded strongly of Chicago and New York City.

“You don’t have to go straight back to school, Annie. We’ll talk to the principal and see what we can do. I want you to be in your age group, but that may not be able to happen.”

I almost snort. I’d finished college. I could skip fourth grade if I wanted to.

Instead I ask, “Can’t I take some kind of test?”

Mrs. Simon grimaces. “I don’t think you’d be able to pass, honey. You already only had average scores, and you haven’t been to class in a long time. They’ve learned new things!”

“I can study before I take the test?” My voice is quiet, because I am still trying to think over what Mrs. Simon has said. My scores had _never_ been average. This actually really sucked.

Mrs. Simon sighed, “You can try, but we have to go into the school today for a test anyway - Mrs. Williams insisted. It’s okay if you’re held back. Everyone will understand.”

But I wouldn’t understand - I’d had a bachelors degree. I nod and looked out to the city. I had never lived in such a big city before - I’d certainly lived in a city - Miami before it _really boomed_ \- and had visited big cities before. But this is really something else.

“Where do we live?”

“In the city.”

I almost roll my eyes. Of course we do, we don’t seem to be leaving it, after all. But I couldn’t blame her. I’m not her daughter, and she might have forgotten that I know nothing.

“Which city?”

She makes eye contact with me for a second, and she looks terribly sad, before she answers.

“Gotham. We live in an apartment not too far from the GCPD.”

I might have been able to brush off the Gotham comment - it was a nickname for New York city that was kind of popular in the nineteenth century, if I remembered correctly - but she said GCPD. Not NYPD,  GCPD - Gotham City Police Department.

Which means Batman and the Joker and - fuck. I’d read more Marvel comics.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The room Mrs. Simon - mom - kept for Annie - me - is clean. It’s so clean, that I’m convinced Mrs. Simon cleaned it everyday that her daughter was in a coma, because there’s not a speck of dust  _ anywhere _ and from experience, that’s a pain to achieve.

The walls are baby blue, and the only accessory on the wall is a cork board filled with pictures of a little girl with a princess party hat and a big smile -  _ that’s me, I think. It certainly looks like me.  _ \- but there’s also one solitary picture there filled with paper hearts around one boy. He’s cute, I suppose with the dark hair and the sharp jawline - he has a sharp jawline as a nine year old, impressive - but he has an angry expression on his face and looks like he could be a troublemaker.

Pushing the paper hearts away, I can see that’s he’s part of a class photo - Wayne Elementary School - and I cringe at the name, because it figures that no matter where I look I’m reminded of the surreal reality I now live in.

I’d taken the test not even an hour after I’d left the hospital, because it turns out that we weren’t headed home. Mrs. Simon had taken me to a fast food restaurant - and okay, I was pretty excited about that because  _ food _ \- but then I’d gone straight to the Elementary School for the test. Mrs. Williams, apparently my old teacher - and wasn’t I glad I couldn’t remember  _ her _ \- seemed to have a deep seeded hatred of me. I hate to think what little Annie could have ever done to her. 

But apparently she’d given me the test expecting me to fail, and then accused me of cheating. I had breezed through it. 

It helped keep my mind off my predicament - you know being in a fictional world and all.

In the end, after multiple accusations of cheating courtesy of Mrs. Williams, and taking different tests multiple times - like seriously I sent six hours at the school with the principal and even coming back to the school on Monday and Wednesday, because overtime pay was not approved - before I was finally granted a letter recommending me for high school.

I begged and begged to just be placed with my old classmates, and Mrs. Simon let me, though I’m still not sure why.

It was on the drive home after the last test -  _ through Gotham, how can I be in Gotham? _ \- that Mrs. Simon called up Mr. Luthor.

Mrs. Simon had bragged a bit to Mr. Luthor, saying how smart I am and that he won’t regret paying for my hospital bills or the serum -  _ whatever that means _ .

“Yes, Mr. Luthor. She took the test again today.” When had she talked to him?

Mr. Luthor seems to be talking on the other line. “But she passed the test! She’s fine, nothing seems to be wrong!”

More talking.

I really don’t see why Mrs. Simon has to have this conversation with me in the car, so I try to tune her out.

Because I have to go to school now. Again. I haven’t been in school for a year, now in both lives, apparently. It’s weird. And with kids I don’t even know? It’s  _ worse _ than the first day of school. At least on the first day of school, no ones knows anyone. Judging from the get well card, they at least know who I am.

And I just want to fade into the background.

People do not tend to live long in Gotham when they know the secrets I know - like the fact that the richest man in Gotham beats up criminals to a pulp at night. 

No - no way. I should just jump off a cliff now -  except that never ends well, and people in this city never tend to stay dead, people in  _ comics _ never tend to stay dead.

And why oh why had I wasted my time on Marvel comics?! I barely know the names of the main DC characters, let alone know who to avoid!

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts I can’t even remember the path I walk from the car to my room. Mrs. Simon probably even says something to me, but I don’t remember because  _ I’m too busy freaking out that I’m in Gotham _ . It should have already sunk in, but no. Everytime I remember, I stop thinking about anything else. I should probably see a therapist.

I don’t want to be in Gotham. Maybe I can move away? Except I’m only ten. And  _ I just want to get on with my life. Is it possible to live a life of obscurity in Gotham for a person like me? _

Which brings me to my room. 

I’ve been out of the hospital now for a week, and haven’t been able to really appreciate the room yet.

On a chair by the window is my hospital bag full of well wishes from my former classmates - I still haven’t bothered to unpack it. And there’s a desk with another chair on the opposite wall where yesterday’s food tray sits.

Mrs. Simon likes to bring food to my room - which you know what, she gets brownie points for that. Despite everything, food is still one of my greatest loves, and Mrs. Simon justs feeds that. That woman can cook.

A knock on my door, just as I’m about to unpack the hospital “goodie bag” tells me to turn around and oh - tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches! Yum.

I had just taken a bite, Mrs. Simon had not left which okay, she usually liked to just stand there watching me eat, when she opened her mouth.

“So I talked to Mr. Luthor.”

I hummed through a mouthful of cheesy goodness.

“He’s very happy that the coma didn’t hold you back in your studies.”

Another hum, and I guess Mrs. Simon takes that as an invitation to sit down on my bed. And then she promptly bursts into tears.

So maybe I should have held off on the eating, because trying to handle food in my mouth and comfort Mrs. Simon is difficult. I don’t even know why she’s crying.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you don’t remember! It’s all my fault. I should have -”

I can’t understand anything more because she just  _ won’t stop crying. _

She cries for a good ten minutes, and the whole time I’m wondering what she means. Because I’m pretty sure Lex Luthor’s more at fault than Mrs. Simon. ( _ I don’t want this much attention from a supervillain - is he a supervillain? I feel like he is, but I don’t know much about Lex Luthor! Why did I read Marvel Comics instead? _ ) 

But even if he is or she is, in all honesty it’s also  _ my _ fault that I don’t remember, right? Because I’m not Annie, no matter what anyone says. I’ll go by the name, I guess. But I was not Annie before, and I’m really not now.

After Mrs. Simon dries her tears, she leaves me to my inner turmoil and I’m left with the food - glorious food, my love - and the hospital bag of goodies.

_____

I don’t really know what I expected of my life here in this Universe. I expected to be able to go to school, get a college degree, and get a job. I expected to live in obscurity. 

And in a way I do, but it’s a finicky balance between being a wallflower and a celebrity for my circumstances.

I go back to school - to half a year more of Wayne Elementary - and face a class full of nine and ten year olds.

They’re all staring at me like I’m an alien, as if I’m a ghost, and I suppose in a way I am, but still. It all makes me feel awkward. I just want to fade into the wall.

“You can sit right next to Emma and Sarah,” Mrs. Ramirez - and thank the Lord it’s not Mrs. Williams - says as she pushes me toward the empty seat by two girls.

They’re two girls, one blond and one red headed, that smile brightly at me as I take a seat and try to get small.

The desks are separated in groups of three all throughout the classroom, but this table is the only one with all girls. Most of the desks are co-ed.

“Hey, Annie,” they whisper, even as Mrs. Ramirez begins a spelling test for everyone.

I can’t help but think this is a bad idea - to let two girls who are obviously best friends stay at the same table. I also can’t help but wonder if I was once a part of their group.

I nod to the girls as I accept the paper from Mrs. Ramirez and hunch over the desk, beginning the ridiculously simple spelling test, even as the two girls - _ Emma and Sarah _ , I remind myself - stare at me.

The day flies by quickly and before I know it - food! Mrs. Simon had given me a packed lunch  _ and  _ lunch money. I think she realizes that I love food more than anything else and wants me to be happy.

It’s at lunch that the questions start (Mrs. Ramirez must run a tight ship, for them to have held off for this long). The swarm of ten year olds converge on my table as I’m trying to eat my wonderful meal of pizza, turkey and cheddar sandwich, water, and juice (I really love food).

“So, what was it like?”

“Can you remember anything.”

“Who did it? None of the adults tell us anything.”

And why the fuck are they asking me? I’m the one who’s supposed to have been in a coma for a year.

The only one just sitting there and not asking questions is the boy from the picture - the one I assume Annie had a crush on, because come on, all those paper hearts, she  _ had _ to have a crush on him - and he’s just sitting there with a raised eyebrow, not seeming very impressed with the other students.

I guess my annoyance must be showing, though, because Emma and Sarah stop asking their own questions and turn to the other students, “Can’t you tell she doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Instead of stopping, though, everyone leans in closer and I struggle to eat my food in peace, even as out of the corner of my eye I see that the boy from the picture doesn’t have lunch.

My heart breaks just a little at that.

_____

It continues like that for a week, until the next big thing - news about the Justice League’s most recent fight - hits the news. And then, because I won’t talk about it, people begin to leave me alone.

Emma and Sarah still sit by me, but it’s a little strained because I’m sure they want to know, just as much as the rest of my classmates, what I remember.

Which is absolutely nothing, except what  _ little _ I read of the comics, and my sporadic following of the DC TV shows and movies. I’m such a  _ sham _ .

I’m also on a little bit of mission though. Following my observations of  _ the boy _ as I’ve dubbed him, because I  _ still _ don’t know his name, I begin to eat less at lunch. It’s not like someone’s stealing my lunch money.

It’s just that when no one’s looking, like when we’re about to leave for playground time, I hang out in the back of the crowd, making sure I’m the last one out.

And then I stick my lunch money into  _ the boy’s _ backpack, or in his desk. Because kids our age should be able to eat.

Kids our age.

Sometimes I forget how old I am.

Don’t get me wrong, I love food. But I have enough, and he has none. I have enough adult memories to remember how much better it is to share.

_____

The first month of school, I feel awkward. I can’t be Annie, because I don’t even know what she was like, so I just try to be me.

I’m also the awkward third wheel in the friendship of Emma and Sarah, but I think Mrs. Simon might have said something to them or their parents, because they stop asking about the accident and what I remember, and instead tell  _ everyone _ to back off.

Which, you know, is sweet, but kind of terrifying too.

They also come over a lot to do homework and watch movies. They’re great, I suppose, in the way that they really  _ do  _ want to help me.

It’s on the second sleepover in the middle of February, pillows strewn on the floor, that Sarah plucks up the courage to say what she seems to have been holding in for a while.

“You took down your ‘shrine’ to Jason.” Sarah says it with a sly expression on her face.

My raised eyebrow prompts a blush from her though, and she quickly hides her face in her mug of hot chocolate.

“Jason?” Because despite being in class, I’ve never actually paid enough attention to the boy - because who  _ else _ could Sarah be talking about? I always thought his name was Todd. Mrs. Ramirez calls him that.

Gasps - and this time I roll my eyes.

“You don’t even remember Jason? You had the  _ biggest  _ crush on him! Everyone knew about it - even  _ Jason _ knew about it! You had the class photo and only had him displayed on your wall!”

And wow, isn’t that embarrassing.

“Who’s Jason?”

“Oh please!” Emma’s the one to speak now, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed those notes you keep passing him!”

Crap. Well, I’m not about to correct them about the  _ notes _ .

“Oh, that’s who he is? I thought he was called Todd.”

Emma and Sarah burst into giggles, and I drink some more hot chocolate, because crap.

“His name’s Jason Todd, you silly goose.”

Oh. Cool, I guess. He has two first names?

“Anyway, has he written back?” Emma seems to just be struggling to contain her enthusiasm.

“No.” I shake my head. I hope not. I’m not even really writing anything, and I hope he doesn’t realize it’s me.

“But, it’s Jason!”

I shrug.

“You’ve had a crush on him since the third grade!”

Wow. These girls are really invested. I actually feel embarrassed for the old Annie.

“Can’t we just do each others nails and call it a night?” That’s what ten year olds  _ do _ at sleepovers, right?

Sarah and Emma don’t look like they want to let the conversation drop, but I’m studiously avoiding their eyes as I get the nail polish, acetone, and nail supplies from the bathroom.

Because the conversation’s embarrassing, yeah, but beyond that - they’re talking about the old Annie. And I’m not the old Annie. The old Annie is dead.

_____

My birthday is still in April, which is a bit of a relief. At least I won’t have to remember a completely new birthday. But here’s the thing: my birthday’s in April. Meaning I’ve been here a grand total of two months when Mrs. Simon decides to throw a birthday party at a restaurant down the road.

And she invites the whole class.

Here’s the thing, though, out of my class of twenty, only nineteen show up - Jason’s missing. There’s free food! Why would anyone  _ not _ come to the party?

I’m quite miffed.

Emma and Sarah are in their own little world by the sweets table while I hang out with the pizza bites with a couple of the boys from class that usually just ignore me -  _ but they have great taste _ .

They don’t really look like they want me here, but they get around it by speaking in Spanish.

Is it wrong that I’m just eavesdropping and not letting them know that I understand? I feel like it is, but I don’t want to stop because this is great blackmail material, here.

One of them apparently likes one of my friends.

And yep, they’re glancing at me.

It feels awkward just standing here. I don’t know why Mrs. Simon threw this party in the first place.

_____

Mrs. Simon goes back to work in May - she’s apparently a lawyer, which makes no sense to me, because wasn’t her husband a mechanic? I think I remember her saying that. It all seems suspect to me.

I don’t even know why she has to go back to work - I’ve seen the checks from Mr. Luthor in the mail. He’s sending enough money for us to be very comfortable.

But I’m not about to bring that to her attention. If she wants to work, all the better.

I’m sitting at the dining room table when she mentions it through.

She’s packing my lunch as she talks.

“Mr. Falcone -” Fuck, I know  _ that  _ name, “has been great allowing me to take as much time as necessary, but it’s time I went back to work.”

She must be taking my silence as encouragement.

Fuck, Mrs. Simon - mom - is involved in the Italian Mob.

_____

My first year of elementary school ends with not much fanfare, and I’m left wondering what’s the point of me even being here. What cruel higher power would send me here (to  _ Gotham _ of all places)? I can’t do anything - and even if I could, I would probably just hide in a corner. Because I’m not a hero.

I don’t know why anyone would want to be - it just leads to disaster in this world.

_____

**AN: This is not going to be completely canon - because what even** **_is_ ** **canon? With the infinite Earths - it’s hard to even keep it straight. If something doesn’t add up - that’s my excuse. This is also mostly an exercise for me - I wanted to try my hand at first person present tense (because I usually write third person past tense).**

**Thanks for all the comments!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Middle School (Gotham City Middle School, it’s like I can’t get away from the fictional references that remind me I’m not from this world) begins much the same as that last year of elementary school. In other words, it’s beyond boring but leaves me with jitters the whole while.

But I guess I brought it on myself - I could have jumped straight to High School.

Emma and Sarah stick by my side, dragging me from class to class, but more than ever, I feel like the third wheel. They are getting more and more energetic about boys and shoes and I’m honestly just  _ there _ . My classmates change (except for Emma and Sarah, they somehow end up in  _ all _ my classes) and I don’t care enough to keep track of them, not in the way Emma and Sarah do with their diagram on which of the cutest guys are in which homeroom. 

They make sure to point out that Jason’s in our homeroom, English, and lunch to me. Which is thoughtful, if a bit ridiculous. We’re not even in the same  _ friend _ group - we stick to opposite ends of the classroom, which while fine by me, makes it a little difficult to stick my routine lunch money to him.

I may or may not have utilized Emma and Sarah’s diagram to figure out that he has math after I do - in the same seat - in order to leave my lunch money (either under the seat, taped under the desk, or left haphazardly on the floor - though that method is the most noticeable and I try to stick to the other two).

I’m not sure if he’s noticed yet, but I hope not.

Beyond the banality of school, news at home and on the the TV about the Batman and Robin is pretty big too - they’re apparently a big pain in my mother’s butt, because he keeps trying to put Mr. Falcone out of business and behind bars - or at least out of Gotham. I look up Bruce Wayne once at the library, and he apparently has a ward - Dick Grayson, and boy did I snicker at that name - that I assume is Robin. And I mean it’s nice to know that they prowl around Gotham looking for trouble. I’m certain it’s not enough, though.

But it’s because of all the publicity on the Batman and the Boy Wonder that mom - she’s graduated to mom in my head (she’s part of the mob, and if I know anything about the mob, it’s that family comes first, so mom it is) - keeps telling me to get home before dark. I’m not really all that good at that. It gets darker a lot sooner than I’m used to, especially with autumn coming and Gotham being much further north than anyplace I’ve ever lived.

Which brings me to the first Saturday of the school year. Mom’s in a mad dash to get to the office - that’s where she’s been spending the majority of her time since she went back to working her day job - and she’s trying to shovel the toast that  _ I _ made. For me.

But it’s okay. I grew up with two siblings. I know how to share. Doesn’t mean I won’t use that to my advantage.

“So,” I make sure to make my voice as leading as possible by taking my time with that word, “you’re eating my breakfast.”

Mom looks startled, looks down at the toast guiltily and keeps eating. That’s okay, I can continue. Even if that toast is mine and I really want to eat it.

“When are you coming home -” I ask as mom chugs down a glass of orange juice to chase down the toast -  _ my toast _ .

“No idea, honey. Everything’s so busy, and -”

“Because since it looks like you’re going to be working weekends -”

“And Mr. Falcone really needs all hands on deck -”

“And since all my homework’s done -”

“And honey, do you think there’s any chance that -”

“I was wondering if I could learn mixed martial arts.”

Silence.

Huh, I guess she was listening after all. I almost couldn’t tell.

“Honey,” she begins hesitantly, but I interrupt - because I have this all planned out. I take out the chart of expenses that we made and income I’d guesstimated from the few checks I’d slyly taken a peek at last April. This might have been in the works for a while . . .

“This is what we absolutely have to spend every month, and this is what Mr. Luthor sends. With your day job, the martial arts classes would only account for a tenth of the remaining surplus!”

Mom looks surprised and almost scared, and her eyes are darting around the room.

“We’ll talk about it when I get home tonight.”

“But-” even as I try to interrupt, she looks angry.

“Annie! Tonight.”

And because mom looks stressed and panicked I stop and just watch as she rushes out the door to get to work. That whole day, left on my own, I decide to look up some youtube videos for cardio and yoga (because I remember that from  _ before _ . Because I want this. I want this a lot.) 

I’m not looking for a fight, but this is  _ Gotham _ . Fights usually find  _ everyone _ , right? I’d rather not die again. So I square my shoulders and straighten up before keeping myself busy until mom gets home.

That evening the front door opens with a “Honey, I’m home!” and with mom looking beyond stressed. I almost hesitate in bringing up our earlier conversation.

But then I remember that it’s Gotham and that I really don’t want to die - I want to have at  _ least _ a fighting chance.

“Hey.” 

Mom’s putting her coat in the closet as I approach.

“So, about those less-”

“Annie.” She’s got a hard set to her lips and she’s not even looking at me, she’s just getting her coat situated on the hanger.

“I’ve thought about it!” I insist, even as her eyes narrow and she turns to look at me, “It’s not like I want to join the military or the Gotham City Police! I just want to learn how to defend myself. I’m not the best at getting home by dark, you  _ know _ that.”

Mom sighs, looking down as she moves to brush past me into the house, purse in hand and she goes to sit at the table - right where I’d left my chart of expenses.

She’s really making me nervous, as I watch her scrutinize the expenses, and then she sighs and I tense.

What’s she going to say? Will I have to go behind her back? Learn from  _ anyone _ willing to teach me?

“I need you to stay away from Mr. Luthor. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Don’t even look him up.”

Ok. She’s starting to freak me out. Why on Earth not?

Mom strides right up to me, taking me by the shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes - and crap she looks really serious. Does she also know he’s a super villain?

“If you can do that, I’ll let you take those classes. But don’t tell anyone. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Just . . . Please. I - I can’t lose you too, and you just need to stay away from Mr. Luthor.”

And then she looks down. I guess cause she can’t look me in the eyes. Why on earth would my learning martial arts make  _ anyone _ suspect something nefarious. And why would Lex Luthor care - I mean, I’m just someone he failed to kill, right? I mean, I know he’s a super villain and all, but it’s not like I’m a super too…

I feel like I need to reassure her that my ambition lies in being unnoticeable, but I instead go with “It’s not like I want to be the next batman or batgirl or whatever.” I reply, averting my eyes, just so mom understands that I really  _ don’t _ want to be a hero - like it’s not even a dream that you know isn’t going to happen. “I just want to be able to fight back in the very  _ likely _ event that I need to.”

She breathes out heavily before nodding and turning to the kitchen. Looks like she’s going to cook dinner.

So, I guess that means yes?

_____

The weekend passes quickly after that (Sunday is really all that is left, and my bout of yoga and cardio took time away from my studying) and before I know it, I am back at school.

Because of course I won’t start right away with the martial arts. But, at least I get a promise out of mom for next Saturday.

So, with that in mind, I hike up my backpack a little more and exit the car, eager to get to class as fast as possible.

This is not helped when I see  _ him _ , though. I think I freeze for a solid five seconds before I duck my head and rush over to Emma and Sarah.

It’s not my fault though! It’s the first time this year I’ve seen him (I don’t need to see him to know his schedule, that’s what Sarah and Emma are for), and the summer’s been good to him. 

Jason’s pretty great eye candy for a twelve year old (Sarah and Emma informed me way back when that he’s the oldest in our class even though his birthday is in August; he started school late, or something). Which is terrible. Not only because thinking he’s cute feels weird in my head - and what’s wrong with me? He’s twelve and I-I’m eleven but also twenty? -  but because it means he’s a distraction. I really should be paying attention to what Emma is saying, but I can’t even seem to care all that much.

And is he staring at me? I think he’s staring at me. Damn.

“Are you even listening?”

No not really, something about the English project? I snap back at attention, turning to face Sarah.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Lies, I maybe heard one word of what she said but I fake it and head towards the school entrance, not even bothering to look and make sure that they’re looking - Jason’s probably still there staring a hole into my back - and instead call out over my shoulder, “Anyway we’re going to be late.”

I really need a distraction.

Nothing happens all day - except I  _ swear _ that Jason’s somewhere and staring at me. I’m getting weird chills on my back and I swear my eyes meet Jason’s at some point in the cafeteria. 

It is a terrifying second - but hey! He’s eating a school lunch, so at least I know he’s getting food now. Food. Crap I only have five minutes left of lunch.

I  try to ignore him as I shovel the food in my mouth.

The day doesn’t drag on  _ per se _ . But I’m definitely grateful when school ends and I get home, spend an hour on homework that’s much too easy and eat a couple snacks before mom gets home.

I’m munching on an apple when I hear the jiggling of the key in the lock.

“Honey?”

I quickly try to swallow the apple, nearly choking in the process, and respond, “In here.”

Mom’s head peeks out from around the corner and she’s frowning. In her hands is a stack of brochures for what I can only assume is for my Martial Arts classes. I smile a little and she tries to smile back, but I can tell she’s not very enthusiastic about this.

“We’ll probably only have time to try one,” she begins, handing me the brochures. I can’t help but wonder how she got them all so quickly, even as I browse through them.

“That’s okay. As long as it’s the right one, that doesn’t matter.”

Chewing on my lip helps me think and I eliminate a couple of the places because they focus so much on competition. I don’t want to compete. I just want to know how to survive.

Mom’s looking at it over my shoulder, and it’s seriously bothering me.

“How about this one?” she asks pointing it out.

It’s a small MMA Gym just down the road and while it doesn’t look the most welcoming for a family, seems to have a pretty competent teacher - he has several certifications.

I turn to look at mom. “This one looks promising.”

She smiles weakly at me, and I can’t help feeling a stab of guilt. She reminds me of my mom from  _ before _ who didn’t want me to join the Navy or FBI or whatever, but that insisted I learn to defend myself if I was going to insist on trying. Not that I was tall enough to join the Navy, or old enough to join the FBI, but still.

Anyway, that was  _ before _ I died - while still a normal civilian. I’m not running to join the FBI anytime soon.

“Thanks, mom,” I tell her, and she stares at me for a good long while before she smiles and pecks a kiss on the side of my head.

“Get some sleep, Annie. You’re going to need it.”

_____

And boy do I need it.

The first few weeks of sixth grade don’t really bother me much. It’s the exercise I do at ‘the dojo from hell’ that really gets to me. Throw homework, a project, or a test at me, and I’m fine.

But throw physical exertion on Annie Simon’s body, a body that has been in a coma for a year and then followed it with minimal exertion for six months and does not do too much strenuous exercise? After a full day of that on the second weekend of the school year and I’m ready to die. I get home and don’t even bother  _ thinking _ about food. Blasphemous, I know. 

It’s clear it’s bad when I can’t even think of food.

Instead I just plop down on my bed and pass out.

And the next morning, I really  _ don’t _ want to wake up, even as mom shakes my shoulder. It’s Sunday again, and we have to go to mass. (I  _ really  _ don’t know how to feel about  _ this _ seeing as I was protestant, even though it’s been months and it’s not terribly different, I just don’t like praying to the Virgin Mary and  _ why does any of it matter anyway when this is what happens when you die?! _ ) But mom has pancakes ready for me to eat, so it’s not a total waste of a morning.

And after that weekend from hell, the subsequent workouts don’t hurt nearly as much, even though I go and practice everyday after school. I learn lots of ways how to get away from psychos. I bring up S.I.N.G. (sternum, in-step, nose, groin) and my teacher thinks it is hilarious, but tells me I can’t just rely on that because it only really works sometimes. Instead, he teaches me how to takedown someone that’s bigger than me, focusing more on Krav Maga than anything else, because I’m so short.

And so I go to school, and nothing really happens - thank goodness! I go to learn how to defend myself, and am tired at the end of the day, but satisfied. I don’t ever forget about food again after that first time either - which is definitely a plus!

And so September comes and goes, and before I know it everyone’s talking about Halloween - even the kids at the dojo.

I decide right off that bat that Trick or Treating is a terrible idea. Especially in Gotham.

Mom has a costume that I can’t come up with a good enough reason not to wear, except that it’s  _ seriously _ overused, in my opinion, but she insists it was really difficult for her to get, and she was inspired by my martial arts lessons. And while I love the costume as it’s seriously good quality and looks badass, the fact of the matter is that it’s a batgirl costume. 

When mom gave it to me, she said, “Now, I don’t like those bats, but they _ do _ have style. So, here you go. Hang out with your friends, but come back before it gets too late. Most of the criminals in this city stay off the streets on Halloween, okay, honey, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be home after seven tonight. And stay close to the chaparones!”

_ I _ personally want to get home before five, but hey. Whatever. And what on Earth does she mean by chaperones? 

I also don’t really want to get mistaken for batgirl, but it’s my  _ only _ costume at this point and I  _ really _ want candy. Even though it’s trick or treating in  _ Gotham _ and pretty much definitely not a good idea. 

Except it’s _free_ _candy_.

So, I get dressed - can’t even recognize myself, at least Annie Simon has always been a carbon copy of the old me, but I have  _ never _ dressed like a bat - and head out the house with plastic batarangs and a mask. I think I really spook Sarah and Emma (a witch and a fairy, respectively) because when I get to their door, they literally scream. But it could just as easily be squealing, so who knows.

“Come  _ on _ !”

We stop by a couple of stores, and that’s when Sarah does it.

She’s apparently catches sight of a bunch of kids from school and I’d ignore her squealing except she mentions ‘Wayne Manor.’

“-and Mr. Wayne’s butler always gives the best candy! It’s not even that far away, you know?”

Actually it is. I know it is, Sarah knows it is,  _ everyone _ knows how far away Wayne Manor is. This is a terrible idea. I’m surrounded by idiots. We’re going to miss out on candy and chocolate on the off-chance that Wayne Manor’s Halloween treats will offset it?

But then I think about it, and can’t help but salivate at the thought of the candy - if Bruce Wayne has candy for Halloween, then I bet it’s good candy. It  _ has _ to be. And I can blend in with the class. In fact it will look suspicious if I  _ don’t _ go. Right?

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I climb into the school bus, to Wayne Manor - this has apparently been in the works for a while, and  _ see? You all  _ know _ it’s far away _ \- and stare out the window as Gotham disappears in a blur of lights. I even forget that I’m wearing a batgirl costume, and don’t even think about it until the door is opened and the butler - and  _ wow, that’s Alfred, isn’t it? _ \- opens the door and raises an eyebrow at us.

“Trick or Treat!” everyone yells except for me. I just try to shrink because there he is - the butler of the billionaire that copes with his parent’s deaths by dressing up like a flying mouse and beats up criminals.

“Oh? And what group is this?”

“Gotham City Middle School!” exclaims Sarah, but I’m not paying too much attention, because we can see into the manor, and there’s a boy not too much older than us - maybe fifteen? - who is running down the staircase and looks disappointed to see us, as if he is expecting someone else. His eyes pass over me, and I almost relax, except they rush right back and I wince, ducking my head and reminding myself to thank mom for the mask.

I try not to let it get to me, when I get the biggest snickers bar I’ve ever seen and everyone else is stuck with, while nice sizable candy bars, nothing to be compared to mine.

I whisper a thank you to the butler and follow the class back to bus. I try not to think about what  _ Robin _ is thinking and freak out just a little bit - because that was  _ Robin _ , it has to be) and what on Earth was I thinking? Out of the corner of my eyes, I’m almost distracted because I think I see Jason in the crowd - is he dressed like Superman? That’s precious - but he’s not even sparing me a glance, and I don’t think he recognizes me either. And shoot, get it together, woman.

The whole bus ride Sarah and Emma gush about their candy, and I try not to freak out, because that was  _ Robin _ and somehow I’m still alive and the world hasn’t ended.

“Hey, batgirl!”

I wince because that’s me, right now . . .

“Where’d you get the outfit?”

I turn to look at who’s talking and immediately have trouble breathing, because it’s Jason - Superman Jason, but definitely Jason. He’s actually  _ talking _ to me. Even Emma and Sarah shut up at this point.

“Ummm . . .”

“Looks good.” And he winks with a smirk.

Fuck. I  _ don’t  _ have a crush on him. I  _ don’t. _ Even if he has a pretty face. I’m not  _ Annie _ ! I’m not really eleven, am I? Am I? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I blushing?! He’s twelve and I’m - I’m - I don’t even know how old I am anymore.

He sits down in his seat, even as Sarah and Emma begin squealing and I’m left to sink into my seat and question what I’m even doing with my life.

_____

**I don't even know how this chapter got so big - it was supposed to be about this long and span her whole 6th grade year. . . but oh well, I guess... Thanks for all the comments - everything has a reason, but the explanations are going to have to wait a few (I was planning on kind of explaining with this chapter and then this chapter got too long . . .**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed. It's been two weeks, and I was staring at this chapter feeling it wasn't quite right, but I thought, screw it, and posted.**

**Shout out to Snickie, my wonderful beta/best friend.**

**Chapter 4 is already in the works.**

**-GlidingOne**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

When I get back to school after Halloween - _the day after, it was supposed to be mom’s birthday, I just want to go back home_ \- classes continue, and as it’s already a few days into November, decorations for Thanksgiving are everywhere. Still, everyone knows the real holiday everyone’s waiting for is Christmas - _my first in Gotham, this isn’t right, I just want to go home!_ \- And it’s just around the corner. Me, I love all holidays because - _food_ , all the food. I plan on baking all the pies with the woman I call mom, now.

Something new about living in Gotham, is the Thanksgiving Day Parade put on by Wayne Enterprises. They have a Batman on it, a few floats before Santa. I try not to snicker too much at that, because my teacher’s speaking - even if she’s talking about the parade - but by the looks she keeps throwing me, I don’t think I really succeed.

Teachers are all bearing down on schoolwork and with about a month and a half left of classes, there’s nothing to do but suffer through the work. Or fail. That’s always an option.

English Class has just been a slew of essays and reading assignments. Math has been beyond simple. History is only a little mind boggling because we’re focusing on global history, and while the American Revolution is still the same, as well as most of the country’s history - names I expect like New York and Los Angeles don’t play as big a role. Instead it’s Gotham and Star City.

And don’t even get me started on science class. I think Mrs. Carter has a crush on Superman or something - I mean, I’d get it if it was Captain America, especially considering her name, but come on...

At least music isn’t any different, and math at least makes sense, even if it’s twice as obnoxious with my teacher insisting I should try getting into the more advanced classes. I despise math, even if I’m good at simple algebra.

Sarah says it’s not fair - how can I know all the things I know when I was basically dead to the world for a year. Then I think Sarah realizes what she just says, because Emma just gives her a hard look, and she shuts up.

It’s hard having people walk on eggshells around you. Though I guess, I can relate to them. I’ve basically been doing the same around Jason.

Jason, by the way, is a broody little shit (a _pretty_ broody little shit, but a broody little shit none the less) and I’m pretty sure he despises me. I don’t think he realizes I was the one under the mask on Halloween because he doesn’t talk to me, but I swear I can feel his glare on my back. The only thing even remotely that redeems him, really, is that he really loves his parents. He doesn’t have the most glowing of reviews for them (his mom’s apparently a drug addict and his dad’s a petty criminal - his dad was apparently in jail the whole time I was in a coma and is apparently a deadbeat dad at this point), but then if someone says something remotely bad about them, he beats them up.

Which gets him into a boatload of trouble. But I admire that about Jason. Because he’ll get in trouble for parents he thinks could do better. He’s still (barely) eating lunch. I never see his parents pick him up or drop him off, and he doesn’t hang out with a lot of the other kids. I’m pretty sure Johnny, his ‘best friend’ is a low-key drug dealer.

He also looks way too skinny, despite the times that I’ve seen him eating. _Something’s_ up with him, I can tell.

He’s not the only one in school that has a bad home life, mind you. About half the school has trouble with getting school supplies even if Jason’s got it particularly hard. Downtown Gotham’s School zone encompasses Crime Alley, after all. So, the school’s an interesting mix of the lower and middle classes.

I don’t mind. I’d grown up with Public School before.

I still can’t stand school at this point, though, and it’s a long six weeks until Christmas break.

_____

“What’s this?” I ask as I pull the last present from under the tree. Which is weird, because I was under the impression that mom would only give me one present, and she doesn’t seem like the type that would encourage Santa Claus’ existence to an eleven year old. But there’s one more gift left under the tree after we’ve exchanged presents.

Christmas break has arrived much faster than I expected, and while our house isn’t decked out like a Christmas store, it still has a lovely nativity scene and Christmas Tree. And it smells like Pumpkin Pie. Which in my opinion, is more of a plus than anything else.

But this present is out of place. It doesn’t look anything like the one’s mom hid under the tree. Whereas all the other presents have dancing snowmen, this one’s wrapping paper is a solid gold color. And _none_ of mom’s gifts had a ribbon on them.

And this one does.

As I’m observing all this, I don’t even notice mom’s face paling.

There’s a card folded up, and even as I reach to open it up, mom grabs my hand.

“Annie, where did you get that?”

“What do you mean? It was under the tree with all the other presents.”

Mom honestly looks terrified as she pulls her hands back and allows me to open the card and I honestly almost drop the present like a hot potato when I read the name on it - Lex Luthor.

What the fucking hell?

“Why can’t he leave us alone now?” I hear mom mutter, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to hear her.

Instead, with my throat all closed up - because fuck, I got a christmas present from Lex Luthor, what even _is_ my life? - I rip open the gift. It’s not small, but it’s not large either. Maybe the size of my hand.

But inside is a watch. Which I know I’ll never ever use because it’s _way_ too big for my wrist and definitely not my style. I like things to be simple, not this . . . flashy thing.

I look up at mom, who really looks so upset, and ask her, “Mom, why is Lex Luthor sending me a Christmas present? I’ve never even met the guy. . .”

Mom definitely looks spooked, but when she looks me in the eye to answer, there’s also a hardness to her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it - throw it down the drain, don’t even look at it -”

She’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and even as she frowns, gets up, and looks through the peephole, I can feel my heart start to race in my chest.

“Mr. Richards?”

Who’s that?

And right there at my front door is a tall, brown haired man with a receding hairline and a smile on his face. It doesn’t sit well with me.

“Mrs. Simon. You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“And you thought that was an invitation to visit?”

Wow, mom can be sassy! But the man at the door just chuckles.

“I’m just checking in on my client’s investment.”

Investment, what investment?

“We’re fine. We don’t need anything now, thank you.”

And just as mom goes to shut the door, Mr. Richards blocks her, keeping it open.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been cashing the checks anymore.”

Mom swallows.

“Is there a reason for this, or are you trying to build up a case against my client. Remember that you signed the NDA.”

_I know that acronym!_  I think even as my heart kind of stops. Mom signed a non-disclosure agreement? She works for the _mob_. Just what the fuck would she need a NDA for?

Mom looks angry for a moment before she looks down, and nods. “I understand. I’m not planning to take any legal action. But she’s just a child. I don’t understand what more you or your client could possibly want from her.”

“She’s an investment. An experiment if you will,” And then he looks over at me - _holy crap, he’s looking me straight in the eyes_ \- and he smirks, “and my client is eager to see the progress she’s making.”

Mom looks terrified.

“You’re both invited to -”

“No thank you.” Mom interrupts. “We appreciate the offer, but we really have all these plans and they can’t be changed. Perhaps next time.”

Mom’s face is cold and unmoving.

“Well, it’s an open invitation, for as long as little Annie would like. Mr. Luthor would really appreciate it if you joined him in Metropolis for his New Year’s Party. This year and any that follow.”

Well. Fuck.

“Yes. We understand.Thank you. We have all these people to visit, however. Merry Christmas. Goodbye.”

She shuts the door, and this time he lets her.

“Mom.”

She really doesn’t look like she wants to answer my questions, so for once I do her a favor, and back down.

“Emma and Sarah are waiting for us to meet them at the movies this afternoon. Shouldn’t we get to eating breakfast so we can get there in time to get the good seats? I mean, it’s a matinee, but it’s also Christmas. . . ”

Emma and Sarah did no such thing, but mom seems to understand. And if that lawyer is out there listening, then all the better.

She nods and heads to the kitchen, and I follow, abandoning my present from Mr. Luthor.

I don’t bother paying attention to the movie all that much. I think I watched it before all _this._ Mom watches, but I can tell she’s not paying attention either.

Christmas in Gotham isn’t all that great, I decide as I go to sleep that night.

Despite mom’s assurances to Mr. Richards that we have plans, we spend New Years at home. I don’t mind all that much. I’m a homebody. But I can tell mom’s just itching to get outside and socialize.

Instead, she goes a bit overboard on the New Years meals. She’s a little perplexed that I don’t want to eat pork (it had been a habit in the before, because I’d been allergic to that particular food item, and I didn’t like pork all that much anyway) so instead she makes fish - salmon, and because I had that every year for New years in the before as well, I decide Mrs. Simon is definitely like my mom in the before and I think I can handle her being my mom here. She spends the whole day cooking, and I bake bread, cookies, and brownies But it’s a subdued atmosphere.

I think mom expects another knock on our apartment door, because she jumps at the slightest noises our neighbors make.

I’ve never hated living in an apartment complex more.

_____

School comes back as normal in January, and I can’t help but sigh in relief. As much as I’d been looking forward to break, I am ready for a distraction from how unreal my life actually is. I’ll even take the grumbling of Jason as he pushes past me in the halls over the possibility, or the stress of the possibility, of meeting Lex Luthor.

My fear of Lex Luthor probably doesn’t make much sense to most people, unless they attribute it to the fact that he basically killed my dad, and almost killed me. But all things considered, Lex Luthor’s public image is not too terrible. I mean, he’s known as a vicious businessman, but the most successful businessmen usually are.

I guess Superman hasn’t outed him yet? It’s weird, knowing intellectually that he’s a terrible person, but all around you, no one knows. I mean, back in the before, _everyone_ knew Lex Luthor was bad news.

And here, Lex Luthor is basically Metropolis’s version of Bruce Wayne - even though there’s so much more to Bruce Wayne than meets the eye, and Lex Luthor is in all actuality _nothing_ like Bruce Wayne.

Except for mom, I’m mostly an anomaly. Mom seems to have a healthy dosage of fear for Lex Luthor.

So, I go back to school relieved, because I don’t want to think about Lex Luthor and his stupid New Year’s Party. I’m way too stressed out with worrying about  Gotham’s problems, I don’t need to add Metropolis’s villains to my radar. And worrying about grades is such a _normal_ thing, that I don’t even care at this point anymore.

Emma and Sarah seem to notice something’s up, if only because they stop trying to get me to talk about anything except school. I still sit with them, but I’m more a fly on the wall - which is all I’ve wanted since I arrived in this city.

Mom’s newfound terror about Lex Luthor also has an unintended consequence.

“What do you mean?”

“Things are going to be a little tight now. So I’m going to need you to pick - either Lunch money or your lunchbox.”

I’m not sure I’m exactly hearing mom right.

“Umm . . . okay?”

“So, which one are we going with?”

Neither, really. I love food. But, if I don’t have lunch money, then what’ll happen to Jason.

“Lunch box?”

My mouth moves faster than my brain in that moment and shit. I can’t take that back. Crap crap crap. What am I even supposed to do at this point.

But mom smiles, looking relieved, and I’m pretty sure I know why - making lunch at home is cheaper than buying it from school.

Fuck.

I get very little sleep that night.

_____

I hide behind Emma and Sarah that day as I enter the cafeteria, and yet I can still see him - Jason - sitting there looking confused and with no food in front of him. It makes me feel guilty as I eat my sandwich. Here I am eating and he’s got nothing.

I try not to look at him too much, but my eyes keep involuntarily glancing at him. My food feels like ash in my mouth, even as my stomach growls and twists in pain. I can’t bring myself to eat much and it just ends up back in my lunch box.

I soon regret this, though, as I go through the rest of my classes that day. The lack of food is horrible. My stomach keeps reminding me I didn’t eat all my meal, and it’s just sitting in my backpack.

It occurs to me Jason must be in even more pain. He has nothing to eat, after all.

The next morning, mom’s running late - something about one of her meetings being moved up - and so she throws a couple one dollar bills at me as I’m exiting the car to school.

I go through my same routine, covering the wad of bills under an old take home notes paper under the chair. And as I’m leaving the classroom to go to Phys Ed I freeze up, because fuck. I almost ran into him. He gives me this look and I almost can’t even breathe. My whole throat chokes up.

So I bow my head, and move to the side to let him in, running away once he’s through and not looking back.

I’m still hungry that afternoon - like ridiculously hungry, maybe even hangry. And I definitely almost faint on my way home - I end up skipping the MMA gym in the meantime. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m feeling so weak - it’s just a couple of hours without food, I eat a decent enough breakfast.

I don’t understand it, but I’m not about to stop. I’d rather not feel guilty. I can’t have my cake and eat it too, but I can certainly give it to someone else in the meantime.

_____

I live for the weekends. Mom makes sure I eat tons of protein and now those are the only days I go to the gym. The only downside is that all anyone’s talking about is the upcoming competition in Metropolis. So I try to ignore them. I’m trying to keep a low profile, and after Christmas and what with what that guy - Mr. Richards - said, heading to Metropolis would just bring me unwanted attention.

So I go to the gym, even though I’m only helping others prepare for the competition.

And I eat all the food, because my body is seriously protesting my self imposed fast during random school days - only when mom’s running so late that she hasn’t made my lunch. Sometimes, I’m the one eating, and sometimes I’m not, which is fine by me. I prefer the hunger to the horrible guilt I get when I see Jason not eating.

And that’s how most of the months following Christmas and New Years (January, February and March) go.

_____

I first meet Mr. Falcone during Easter Mass at church shortly after I turn twelve. And I don’t freak out.

Who’s freaking out?

Not me.

It’s not like he’s the head of a crime syndicate or anything (I’m totally freaking out).

It’s not even like I approach him in the first place. Mass is over, and everyone is heading home. And me, stupid me, I’m still hanging out with mom instead of going over to Emma and Sarah and just listening to them babble on about how they can’t wait for Summer vacation to start, even though Spring break is only now ending, and we didn’t even do anything special.

Nope. I stick to mom like glue, and this man, he’s kind of intimidating looking, comes over, bodyguards all around him.

He’s got this expression on his face that’s super calm and kind of terrifying in a Michael Keaton kind of way - you know, he was absolutely terrifying in Spiderman Homecoming when he was just being himself.

And this guy’s got the same vibe going for him.

“Mary, good to see you out and about.”

“Yes, well . . .”

I don’t actually know who he is, at this point, so I’m not quite freaking out yet.

“And is this Annie? It’s been so long. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were six years old.”

That certainly explains why I don’t remember him. At all. He’s acting like a benevolent uncle you can’t really remember but that you know is probably a total creep (was I the only one who had that? No? Awesome) . . . he’s giving me all sorts of nostalgic vibes that I would've done very well without.

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t remember much, Mr. Falcone, not after the accident” mom apologizes - and wait.

What?

Hold up. This is Mr. Falcone?

Why is he here? Are they going to kill someone? This was supposed to be one of the best holidays of the year! It’s not high profile enough that Luthor would bother us, but it’s high profile enough that mom would spend the day with me and I get a few days off from school. And yet there he is - this mobster - also celebrating with my family.

Or rather, mom and I join in the Falcone Family Easter celebration and I find myself sitting at the dining table in Mr. Falcone’s house with his family, and a couple of other lawyers and what I assume are members of ‘The Family.’

It’s very weird. He has a wife, two sons, and a daughter - Louisa, Alberto, Mario, and Sophia, and they’re all sitting around the table, smiling at my mom and I. There are some really creepy guys with guns - I can see them holstered - standing behind us, but mom seems unconcerned.

And I‘m definitely not freaking out. Not me. Nope.

It’s when Mr. Falcone puts his fork and knife down when his plate’s almost done and folds his hands in front of him that I begin my freak out, because he’s looking straight at me.

“So, Annie. Your mom tells me you’re doing well in school.”

I nod because I feel a lump in my throat and know any attempt at speech will sound choked.

“You know, I went to Public School back in the day, my father thought it would be good for me. Sophia, Mario, and Alfredo I sent to Private Schools, of course, but I mentioned once when you were first born that it was in large part to my public school education that I became so successful. Your father was in the room, and I guess he took that to heart. But, tell me. What do you think about public school?”

What? He wants me to talk about - and crap that actually makes tons of sense, why I’m in Public School  - except not at all - what was Mr. Simon thinking?! Did he think it would _impress_ Mr. Falcone or something?

“It’s public…”

And yep, they’re all laughing at my answer, but I had to say _something._ They were all staring at me expectantly and I had honestly no idea what to say! It seemed as good a response as any, even as I feel mom elbow me in the side.

“I mean, I like all my classmates, and the classes are pretty interesting. . .”

By the time I finish my sentence, the lump is back in my throat and I’m feeling all sorts of embarrassed as I continue the meal paid for with the money from the mob - and fuck it, I’m a black hole for food, I honestly don’t really care _how_ they paid for this meal.

It’s only as I’m lying in my bed that night that it occurs to me that I might owe Mr. Falcone a thank you. It would have probably been a bit harder to keep a low profile if I had been in a private school. But public school in Gotham? Well, it’s a dangerous city. If one day I just disappear, decide I will take my chances alone on the road, nobody would bat an eye because that sort of thing happens often in Gotham.

Lots of people disappear without a trace.

And while I hope that day never comes for me, it’s nice knowing I have access to an escape plan.

_____

The school year ends calmly, even if I am feeling lightheaded more and more these days. I finish exams and come home with straight A’s. I can tell this stresses mom out, but I can’t bring myself to botch my tests and chances at college. I want a degree again, dammit.

I comfort myself with the little fact that even though Lex Luthor and Carmine Falcone know who I am, I can still fade into obscurity. I’m young enough to get people to lose interest and I’m really good at looking the other way when it comes to the more questionably legal things that mom does.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy for me, though. After all, how could I have known what mom had done to save my life. I was doomed long before I ever woke up from that coma.

_____


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For summer vacation, when I’m not at the MMA Gym, I follow mom around her office and organize her filing cabinet. It’s busy work, but it’s better than doing nothing at home. It’s not like I have access to anything  _ really _ important.

I learn a lot about what mom does that summer.

Mom is Mr. Falcone’s legal counsel, but she’s not as important as she used to be (i.e. before I was in the coma). While she definitely does important work, she doesn’t deal with the most sensitive things anymore. She says she can’t risk it anymore because she has to worry about me now, and that Mr. Falcone understands. 

I’m not sure he does, but whatever. 

With summer comes longer daylight hours, which makes this part of the year slightly more safe than others - but let’s be realistic, it’s Gotham. Safe isn’t exactly an adjective often associated with the city, even  _ with _ the caped billionaire jumping from rooftop to rooftop in some bizarre kind of parkour.

So when mom asks me to grab some takeout from the sandwich shop down the street, I figure I’m safe enough with the sun up high in the sky. I couldn’t have been more wrong, because  _ of course _ Murphy’s Law has to rear its ugly head.

To be fair, it all seems to be going well going well until I leave the sandwich shop on my way back to the office. Stupid me declines an escort back.

“Are you sure, little girl? We don’t mind.”

Except it is an extra fee, and I’m honestly so tired of extra fees here in Gotham. It makes only the rich safe, and even then, not completely (seeing as the Waynes, you know . . . died).

So I leave the restaurant with my hands full (so stupid) and looking like easy prey.

And that’s how they find me. Even though it’s broad daylight, and I think I’m safe, they still come after me. Because I’m young and look gullible.

“Hey, little girl, what have you there?” 

I’m not stupid enough to be in an alley, or anything. But they still call out to me from behind. I tell myself I shouldn’t be so paranoid. They might just be a good samaritan, and even though they  _ appear _ to be thugs, doesn’t mean I should profile them as such. I can’t shake off the feeling of paranoia though, and I hunch my shoulders, duck my head, and walk a little faster.

“Hey, we’re talking to you!”

And I’m ignoring them. Because I’m good at that.

Someone’s in front of me now, blocking my path, and I try to sidestep, but he just follows. Fair enough. It’s happened to me plenty. Maybe he’s trying to be polite by stepping out of my path. So I attempt to go to the other side, but again, he has followed me. He makes to anticipate my trying the other side again, but stops, because I’ve stopped. And now I know, he wasn’t just trying to be polite. 

And fuck, this is a worse feeling than meeting the Falcone family. At least they don’t wish me harm - I don’t think. Why do my hands have to be full?

“Hey, little girl.” They’re touching my hair, they’re reaching for my shoulder, fuck. “What’s your name.”

“Lucy.”

Yeah, give them a fake name, it’s not like I really respond to Annie very well anyway.

“Okay, Lucy, how old are you?”

Twelve, you fucking pedophile. Leave me the fuck alone.

Thank God, I’m not stupid enough to say that to his face.

Instead I don’t say anything. He has the fake name already - I can feel my skin crawling already.

He grabs my shoulder and shoves me into the alley -  _ stupid stupid stupid, why couldn’t I just stay away from the alley?  _ \- and then I don’t know what happens or why, but as they’re closing in on me, my entire body tenses, and all the guys around me get pushed back by . . . something, some kind of wave of . . . I don’t even know what it is. And I’m not freaking out. Who’s freaking out?

Because what just happened, that was . . . not normal. And definitely not from me. I can’t be a  _ meta _ . This is  _ Gotham _ . Not Central City. There is absolutely no fucking reason I should have been able to do that. That can’t be me. 

The men are on the ground right now, but they’re already starting to get up, and barring my lack of judgement when I left the sandwich shop, I’m not stupid. And so I run. I run as quickly as I possibly can back to mom’s office, for some reason dizzy, and I sink into the ground.

“Sweetie, what’s the matter?”

She doesn’t even look up from the document she’s examining - her glasses already slipping down the bridge of her nose - a testament to how long she’s been staring at papers this evening.

And I really don’t want to bother her with whatever this is that just happened. Because I couldn’t have done that. Impossible. Not me.

“I don’t think I should go out on my own to get the sandwiches anymore.”

“Hmmm?” She  _ almost _ looks up.

“There were some really creepy guys on the street today. I don’t think I should go to get sandwiches on my own anymore.”

She looks up this time, taking off her glasses, and gives me a hard look until she finally replies, “Alright.”

It takes me a while to gather the strength to get up and move - all the strength in my body seems to have been drained out of me and I only begin to feel better after I eat the sandwich I brought back with me.

_____

Following that harrowing encounter, and trying desperately to ignore the nausea I feel whenever I remember that moment when my body tensed and I could feel some kind of crawling under my skin just before whatever happened  _ happened _ , I return to school. News is everywhere about Robin moving to Bludhaven -  _ the Teen Titans, oh my God, I missed that show,  _ except it’s not a show, it’s real. The Teen Titans are going to be real, the Justice League is definitely real, and what on earth did I do to deserve living in this ridiculously dangerous place?

How is this my life?

Somehow, I find a normal in the weeks that begin my next school year. 

Seventh grade goes much the way of sixth grade. Annie Simon is top of her class -  _ I’m such a fraud _ \- and is often thought of as the teacher’s pet, which okay, fair, but at the same time is very offensive. I don’t go out of my way to get the teachers anything special for the start of the school year, and it’s not as if I do a lot of extra credit.

I just really want to go to Gotham University. I’ve already started doing research on Universities and looked into Dual Enrollment (also at Gotham U) - it’s the best way to get back to what I’d been doing in the before - languages, all the languages.

It’s not even like I want to do  _ exactly _ what I’d done before, that would be stupid - my former career dream was way too high profile, I just want to go back to studying what I’d studied.

Regardless, I study in class, without raising my head from my book and hide behind Emma and Sarah as we walk down the halls. I try not to think of that afternoon this past summer. 

And life moves on. I think mom can sense that something’s different about me, but she doesn’t say anything about it. And I don’t volunteer any information (I’m good at that).

I continue hiding the money (I have to resort to hiding the money I get when mom forgets to make food in his backpack during Spanish class - it’s not like I need to pay attention; I was fluent in Spanish).

I continue to get good grades.

And I think mom continues to stress about Lex Luthor.

_____

I do nothing on Halloween this year. Mom has a new costume - Catwoman, but I guess she takes one look at my face and puts it away. To be fair, it’s actually a really nice costume- not too shiny, and maybe if I actually wanted to celebrate Halloween, that would be fine and I’d be all over it. Except it reminds me too much of that day in the alley, and when Jason called me Batgirl last Halloween, and I just can’t deal with that at this point.

So I stay home this Halloween and watch the old Halloween classics with mom (some of them I consider classics, but apparently they’re new?) and eat the candy meant for the trick or treaters.

We save enough candy and chocolate though, and there aren’t that many trick or treaters. . . 

And then school until Thanksgiving is a bit of a joke because the teachers are teaching me things I already know and the students are already getting anxious for the end of the school year (I remember it being worse in college though, because they got out a whole week earlier).

I eat tons at Thanksgiving this year, and mom really outdoes herself, with the turkey spread. It’s shortly after the feast, as I am lying in bed doing my science homework - why does my teacher have to be so obsessed with the kryptonians? It’s supposed to be basic seventh grade physics, not geek class - that the pictures hanging on my wall all shake and a small vertical crack appears on the wall.

I’m not panicking. Who’s panicking?

_____

My first real interaction with Jason happens just as school is released for the holidays. It’s been almost a year since I’ve stopped eating as regularly as before - and when I eat at home, I really  _ eat _ \- and I suppose he’s finally had enough of my attempts to make sure he gets  _ something _ because he actually pulls me into the janitor’s closet. And of course since everyone is eager to get home, Emma and Sarah included, I’m left confused and alone with a boy - an honestly very good looking boy - in a closet.

A closet that actually smells really terrible. This is supposed to house the supplies they use to clean the school? Why in the name of chocolate would they use something that smells so horrible to clean this place?

My nose crinkles, and I think Jason takes that to mean I don’t like him. Crap. Because that’s not it at all. Don’t scowl at me, please?

“It smells.”

Whew. The frown is gone - he’s actually blinking at me owlishly. Fantastic.

But no. He’s shaking his head and scowling at me again.

“What’s your deal?”

Deal? No deal? I don’t make deals. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Why am I in a broom closet?”

“I know it’s been you. You’ve been the one leaving your lunch money in my bag and under my chair. Why? Is it because you like me or something?”

He looks so offended, especially when I snort by accident, and he grabs my arm in a tight grip as I attempt to leave.

I tense, and almost freak out - thinking something’s going to happen - but then my stomach growls and we both look down at my stomach. And I relax - no tingling, no burst of whatever.

What the actual fuck?

Jason shakes his head and gets, if possible, more upset. “Why are you doing it? Why would you give up your lunch for me.”

And I sigh, because he's obviously not going to let this go.

“Look, you’re an obnoxious person and you don’t like people.” And the scowl's back. "And I get that, people can be annoying, I don’t pity you or like you or anything. We’re just . . . We’re kids. And kids should have balanced meals. Kids shouldn’t go home hungry. And it sucks that you do - don’t even deny it, I’ve seen you not eating - and if there’s something I can do . . . Even if you  _ are _ obnoxious and rude...”

He’s looking at me as if he’s never seen me before.

“You’re a fucking idealist.”

That’s not true. I’m not helping the world - and I definitely don’t want to be known as that. That’s like suicide in Gotham.

“Gotham eats people like you alive.”

And you know what? Fuck that. I yank my arm out of his grip - he seems surprised, as if he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto my arm - and just as I go to open the door, I stop.

“Gotham’s going to have to try really hard, then.”

Even as I leave, though, I can’t figure out why something didn’t happen. It’s the first time since  _ it’s _ started that it’s stopped before it’s begun. It makes no sense and keeps me awake all night.

_____

This Christmas Eve, mom and I get invited to Mr. Falcone’s Annual Christmas Party, and like any good employee, mom’s thrilled to go, at least until we actually get there.

Mom is all smiles, for once, dressed in one of her favorite dresses and with makeup that is on point - she even offered to do my makeup, and I was not about to refuse. Everything seems to be going well, until mom makes it to the living room where everyone is congregating - including, for some unknown, ridiculous reason a bald guy I recognize from internet searches - Lex Luthor. And then mom freezes, gripping her champagne flute as if it is going to break.

“Mr. Luthor.” Mom plasters a smile right back onto her face, but she’s not fooling me.

I saw the panic in her eyes a few seconds ago.

“Mary! So good to see you! And Annie - you’ve certainly grown up quite a bit.”

His smile is creepy, I decide.

“Who are you?” I ask, just to get on his nerves - and yup, his smile looks way too plastered on his face to be genuine.

“My name is Lex Luthor, little lady, and you - well you are practically family. Did your mother tell you -”

“You’re the reason I was in a coma for nine months.”

He looks so annoyed that I have to hold back my laughter, but then mom interrupts me with her voice strained and I turn to look at her.

“Annie, we need to say hello to our hosts.”

Right. The Mob Boss. He’s the reason we’re here, after all.

“Absolutely! Do you think Miss Sophia is here?”

I kind of like Sophia Falcone, after all.

“Yes! Allow me to assist,” Mr. Luthor interrupts, and leads both my mother and I to Sophia.

“Oh, Annie! How are you? How are classes.”

Something’s up, with Sophia though, I can tell. She and mom seem to be having a silent conversation, and mom seems to be getting icier with each passing moment, and is that Lex Luthor’s hand on my shoulder? I try to shrug it off, but he only grips more tightly.

“It’s fine. It’s school.”

Luthor squeezes my shoulder once more, “Oh I’ve seen her grades, they’re perfect.”

Because that’s not creepy at all, but I just say thanks and look to my mom, saying, “I’m going to go find the restroom,” because it’s the only thing I can think of to get rid of the creepy stalker. He can’t follow me to the bathroom without looking like a pedofile, and even if he has no problem with everyone thinking he’s a creep, no one can fault me for wanting to get away. It’s foolproof.

And he  _ does _ remove his hand from my shoulder, at last, and I scurry away to the lavish restroom in the family home of the Falcones.

Even as I stare at myself in the mirror, leaning over the sink and trying to calm my racing heart, I can’t help but try to think of ways I can avoid this. I even contemplate escaping through the window, but I know I can’t - it’ll look weird. What would mom even be able to tell everyone -  _ Oh, she’s just scared of crowds and is using her Houdini act as a coping mechanism.  _ Yeah, that’ll go real well with the mobsters.

So instead I square my shoulders and head back to the Christmas party.

Luthor’s right by the door when I leave.

“Miss. Simon, Annie, I wanted to speak to you for a moment. Without your mother.”

Yep. Creepy uncle vibe.

“Ok.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I want you to know, I practically consider you my daughter -” oh don’t make me laugh, “So I wanted to know what your thoughts would be regarding moving to Metropolis.”

Nope. No thanks. Not going to happen. 

Only I can’t say that to him, that would be rude . . .

“Gotham’s . . . Gotham’s in my blood. I can’t leave Gotham. It’s my home.”

I really try my best to look confused and like a kid. It may or may not have worked.

“I understand, Annie. But it’s something to keep in mind for the future. Metropolis University is a great school, after all. And I’m quite invested in your future.”

I bet you are.

For the rest of the evening, Lex Luthor insists on staying near mom and me - it’s honestly terrifying, because no matter where I look, he’s there. The Falcones have to have designed the meeting - because there’s assigned seating, and Lex Luthor right in front of me. 

When mom and I get home at one in the morning, she locks herself up in her room and doesn’t even look at me. I’m stuck washing the makeup off my face and getting into bed on my own.

And the next day, when I wake up, it’s Christmas morning and most of the apartment is packed up. Mom says we’re moving and she’s going to get another job - a job far away from the Falcones and far away from Lex Luthor.

_____

It’s hard, moving. I mean, I have experience with it, from the before, but it’s different in Gotham. Maybe it’s because I know mom’s doing it to get away from Luthor. Maybe it’s because it’s Gotham. Maybe it’s because it’s just the two of us.

But, it’s hard saying goodbye to this apartment.

I haven’t told mom about the conversation between me and Luthor just outside the restroom at the Falcone home. I’m not sure telling her would be wise, anyway, especially when I get a good look at the apartment mom found in the Narrows.

“It’s not the best, but until I can sell the condo, it’ll be the best we can do for now.”

She manages to get a pretty decent job as a paralegal (she’s way over qualified) at the Center for the Less Fortunate run by Wayne Enterprises (why am I not surprised) and I still get to go to the same school - which, fun.

Except it’s not so great because with the new apartment, I have to find a way through the mess, because mom’s so busy with work that she doesn’t even have time to put our stuff away, to do my homework.

I get it. We need to get away from Luthor, and mom is banking on the fact that Gotham is huge, and doesn’t bother to tell the new school our new address - after all, we still own the condo.

But, I’m practically swimming in boxes and that’s not cool.

School itself is still the same at least - I go to class, do my homework, go home . . . but I can tell Jason is there is the background trying to figure me out. I have so much on my plate right now that I can’t handle it. I can’t try to figure out how his head works especially with all the crap I have to deal with right now.

_____

Valentine’s Day was a horrible idea. I spent the weekend before it at my mom’s new office because we had nothing better to do, and she sent me to the bank (you know, it’s one of those branches that stays open until around noon) and I should have just stayed hidden under the desk when the guns went off. But I didn’t -  _ stupid, stupid, stupid _ .

See I was feeling like I finally had these these ‘powers’ down - as if I could control it, especially after that confrontation with Jason where I didn’t throw him back. But I’d had lunch that day, because it’s the weekend and mom makes sure I eat tons over the weekend. And these maniacs were just shooting up the bank, trying to scare everyone, and I’d just wanted to get back to mom and food. 

And I don’t even want to think about how it happened. But one second the men are waving their guns and shooting and the next, everyone - literally everyone including clerks and visitors, is pushed back onto their backs, or fronts, except me. I fall back in surprise, hitting my head on the desk and everyone is groaning, then I run out of the bank with my hands held up.

This can’t be happening, it really can’t.

I hope no one saw that. . .

Behind me, I can hear the other hostages running after me, and somehow the GCPD is already in front of us as we exit. And as I rush into the crowd of policemen, the robbers start yelling and arguing inside the building.

No one says anything about what happens. We give our testimonies to the police, but no one can decide what actually happened.

I hear one of the witnesses insist one of us must be a meta, and I know the police took all our names and noted I was the first one out.

But, no one could really explain what happened, and the robbers were locked up, so the police didn’t really care.

Still, I’m totally freaked out.

What if they find me? What if Luthor finds out? What if  _ Batman _ finds out?

So I head back to mom’s office and hope no one looks too deep into the twelve year old girl that ran out of the bank first.

_____

I don’t tell mom about the attack when I get back to the office, but somehow, she seems to know - must have been the news reports. Even people at school seem to know, and for some crazy, insane reason, I get Valentine’s gifts from some of the boys in school. They apparently think I’m a badass from the news report. 

I ignore them and try to blend in even more among my friends, throwing myself into the MMA classes and generally keeping my head down.

The teachers seem to know. Everyone seems to be walking on eggshells with me. Except then Mrs. Simon doesn’t. 

Mrs. Simon asks me if something is wrong and I finally break down and tell her everything, from those times in the alleys, to that time in the janitor’s closet at school, to the bank. I even tell her about the other person in my head telling me this is all fiction, that Gotham shouldn’t exist.

I tell her I’m not  _ her  _ Annie.

And then she tells me.

It was stupid to think I could ever blend in and be a nobody. I’m not even certain I was ever mean to survive. I failed at blending in and being a wallflower the second I woke up.

_____

  
So you are all aware, I am sick today but I still updated.


	6. Mary Simon's Interlude

Chapter Six - Mary Simon’s Interlude

On the night her world ended, her sleep shouldn’t have been interrupted. Her husband  _ knew _ that she had an important case in the morning. So, when the phone rang at midnight, Mary Simon was irate. At first, she ignored it out of principle. She was awake, but  _ everyone _ knew she had an important case in the morning for her main client, Mr. Falcone. Batman, and his trusty sidekick Robin, had brought enough evidence to give her a headache.

Mary Simon was certain she’d be fine, though, if she could just get some sleep.

But the phone didn’t seem to want to listen. It was at the third attempt by the caller to reach her - and oh? They even left voicemails, just in case? Maybe this was important - that she answered.

“Hello?” she snapped, because important the call may be, but it was still late at night, and the people that knew her best knew not to call her this late.

“Mrs. Simon? Mary Simon?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, even if the caller could not see her.

“Mrs. Simon, this is Detective Sanchez of the GCPD.”

Oh hell no.

“Look, I understand that the Gotham City Police Department wants to win the case against Mr. Falcone, but this is harassment. I have to be in court in the morning!”

She almost hung up, except Detective Sanchez quickly spit out, “I'm calling about your husband and daughter!” before Mrs. Simon could slam the receiver down, and Mrs. Simon paused, pressing her ear into the phone just a bit harder.

“What?”

“You’re needed at Gotham General, Mrs. Simon. There’s been an accident.”

_____

It shouldn’t have happened. Her family was going through enough grief - it was the reason her husband and daughter had been on the road to begin with. And yet, on that night, Mary Simon lost her world. Her husband’s mother had just died and the two - father and daughter - had been in Metropolis for the funeral. They were supposed to be coming home that evening, or rather early in the morning, and the only reason Mrs. Simon was not with them was because she’d had that court appearance in the morning. Mrs. Simon was a lawyer in Gotham city for some of the worst people. But it paid well enough and it allowed her husband to indulge in his love of cars by managing some of the chop shops for her clients, the main one of course being Mr. Falcone.

None of which mattered on the night when her world fell apart. Her clients were sympathetic enough to let her continue to receive her paycheck for little to no work, at least for the first month, and the judge postponed the court date due to the ‘unforeseen tragedy.’ She had to hand off the case to a friend though.

Some of her clients even offered to off the drunk driver, until they found out who it was.

Lex Luthor, the billionaire philanthropist, had spent a night in Gotham and was heading home drunk. As the GCPD Detective - Detective Sanchez - explained, Luthor had been the first one to be treated, because they’d thought the little girl and her father in the front were dead, but knew for a fact Mr. Luthor wasn’t - he’d been the one to call the ambulance.

They were wrong, but their delay cost her daughter - Annie was pronounced brain dead that evening by the time Mary reached Gotham General.

And so Mrs. Simon had become a widow at the tender age of twenty eight, her nine year old daughter was in a coma, and she had no one else in her life to support her in this terrible time.

She cried. She yelled at the hospital staff. And when the rich man’s lawyer came in - Mr. Richards - she yelled at him too. Because she was one of the best lawyers and Gotham and hell would freeze over before she let that sleazy billionaire off. 

“Mrs. Simon, I understand that this is upsetting.”

“Upsetting? You don’t know the meaning of that word!”

“But, your husband was also swerving in the road, as evidenced by the way that his car collided with my client's.”

“This is bullshit. You’re trying to put the blame on  _ my dead husband _ ?”

She wasn’t being able to think rationally. She was so angry. She knew she should get a lawyer that could detach themselves from her situation.

“However, my client is willing to reach a settlement. Based on my research, your insurance will not cover your daughter should you decide to keep her on life support indefinitely.”

Mary stayed silent because he was not wrong and she was so angry.

“Mr. Luthor is willing to pay all medical bills, provide any medical assistance, and provide a monthly stipend for your daughter should she ever recover. In return, no press. No one knows of this. No word is spoken.”

Mary couldn’t believe her ears. Because no. She couldn’t lose her daughter but - but her husband. Could she let it go and not demand everything of Mr. Luthor and more? Mary Simon was a lawyer. She knew that the fact that they were even offering this - it could be brought up later if she took them to court.

She wasn’t stupid. She understood. She still told him to politely fuck off.

He left, but not before leaving his business card and telling her to contact him when she was ready to talk.

_____

At her daughter’s bedside, Mary cried. 

She ignored the first notices from the health insurance company. She cashed in her husband’s life insurance. She paid off the condo. And she hoped. After two months, with no charges being brought by the corrupt GCPD and the DA’s office that was all too happy to go against the mob lawyer, Mary was left with a mountain of hospital bills and no job. ‘The family’ was forgiving but she was doing nothing for them for a solid two months and they figured she ought to just move on with her life. 

And then came the notice from the hospital staff while she was at her daughter’s bedside.

“Mrs. Simon? We need to talk.”

Mary did not want to leave her daughter’s side, but she still got up and followed the frowning nurse. 

She didn’t like the expression on the nurse’s face. 

“I need you to sign some papers. I’m afraid your insurance has declined your claim. Unless you can pay the bill, we’re going to have to start procedures to -”

“No. Please. I can-” but she couldn’t because she wasn’t making the same kind of money she was making before.

“We can send her to a more economic hospital, that’s our only other option. We can’t treat Annie, Mrs. Simon. There’s nothing to be done except wait and hope. But the longer she’s in the coma, the less likely it is that she’ll come out of it.”

Mrs. Simon knew it was bullshit. She knew Lex Luthor had been pulling strings. But still, she did the only thing she could. 

Hell froze over. She pulled out the business card and dialed.

The next few months were agonizing, because  _ still _ nothing could be done for her daughter and her husband was still dead. But at least she wasn’t completely alone, and she didn’t have to worry about work anymore.

Mrs. Simon was a mess. She only functioned because her daughter was still hooked up to the tubes.

Mr. Luthor paid her bills, he paid for her food, and he paid for her daughter to remain somewhat alive.

_____

And then, one day - ten months after the ‘accident’ - Mr. Luthor came to her daughter’s hospital room and asked to speak to her.

He had an experimental drug. He wouldn’t say too much about it, but the scientists at LexCorp believed there was a chance that this drug could cure her daughter. It was some kind of gene therapy that mostly targeted the brain.

The only downside was the risk - her daughter could completely die from this.

In most universes, Annie Simon died in the car crash that killed her father - and there was no hope for the machines to keep her up and running. Of the universes where she ended up in the coma, fewer still had Mary Simon asking for help from Lex Luthor. The likelihood of the drug existing in those few universes was minuscule. The success of the drug, mostly impossible.

Except that in this one universe, it  _ did _ work. Not completely, and not in the expected manner. The drug rewrote most of Annie Simon’s memories, and buried the rest. The drug rewrote some of her genes too. And the soul of Annie Simon, the poor little nine year old girl, died. And so the drug, which was a drug developed using the DNA of an interdimensional being that LexCorp had salvaged after one of the Justice League’s many fights, sought someone else’s soul - a soul that had left its body much too soon, a soul compatible with the body of Annie Simon.

In most universes, Annie Simon died and Mary Simon commited suicide soon after, which of course, had been Lex Luthor’s plan - he was getting tired of paying her off.

In this universe, the minute Mary Simon injected the serum into her daughter’s IV tube, Annie Simon’s body seized and she woke up for a minute in a panic, causing the nurses to rush into the room. No one paid attention to the rattling of the machines and the paintings on the wall as they shook, and Annie Simon was sedated for a day.

And the next day, Annie woke up for good, a little sluggish, and with no memory of her mother - or anyone else in her life - but she was alive, and she was responsive.

And Mrs. Simon could ask for nothing more than that.

_____

Annie improved, becoming someone resembling her daughter, but that was leaps and bounds smarter and a lot less carefree. Mary almost broke down at the differences because her sweet little girl didn’t smile as much, and she couldn’t bring that smile back.

But Mary also lived in fear. When Mary Simon had first informed Lex Luthor that the serum had worked, he hadn’t exactly been jumping for joy. He seemed surprised and almost disappointed. Mary suspected he’d been hoping to kill her daughter with the serum, that  _ was  _ one of the possibilities of it, after all.

So when Annie begged to be allowed to simply resume school instead of jumping ahead of her classmates, Mary couldn’t say no. It would be better to hide anything that made Annie different than to garner any more attention from the billionaire.

Mary hoped she and her daughter could just continue with their lives with no further interference from Lex Luthor.

She cashed the checks, cooked, and cleaned, but something felt horribly wrong.

Mary felt like her daughter didn’t really come back to her.

_____

Annie finished elementary school without trouble, and it was around that time Mary decided she should get back to work. While Lex Luthor was providing them with a stipend, Mary was terrified he’d do something and immediately cut them off. Or worse, steal her daughter away from her, saying she was unfit to provide for her daughter.

So she squared her shoulders and returned to work for Mr. Falcone. He didn’t immediately want to take her back. He wanted assurances from her that she would not be quitting anytime soon and that her connections with Luthor would not sour any relations he had with other people of influence.

Mary Simon couldn’t honestly give him those assurances, but she said she could anyway. So she stopped cashing the checks, she tried to stop any contact she might have with Luthor, and she tried to move on with her life and her daughter.

Mrs. Simon was honestly relieved when Annie said she wanted to learn how to defend herself. She knew Annie. Annie liked to hide. But Mary was also relieved that Annie recognized the dangers that came with living in Gotham.

But, Mary was resistant at first. Mary Simon was the type of person that didn’t like to shake things up, that did legal work for a mob boss, but did not carry her own gun. She understood Gotham was dangerous, but was willing to make it work in her favor. She honestly had no idea why Annie was insisting she wanted to learn how to fight.

And then Mary Simon had been at the bank later that morning and some absolute morons decided to hold it up. And even though Mary Simon knew bank holdups were a lot more common in Gotham than in, say, Metropolis. She knew standard civilian protocol was to not shake things up, to hide, and hope for the best.

It killed her, especially when Bruce Wayne who was just leaving the bank when the whole fiasco started, ended up saving the day - Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy Mary absolutely despised.

And she felt so powerless.

So she went home that evening, looked long and hard at Annie’s brochures (she’d really put so much thought into this), and thought about how useless she’d felt in that bank.

_____

When Mary first saw the gift from Lex Luthor in her daughter’s hands on Christmas morning, she swore her heart was about to explode. Because this couldn’t be happening. Why? How? What?

Would he not leave her alone now? She wasn’t cashing his checks. She was trying to live her life. She was trying to move on, and he wasn’t letting her.

And then there was that knock on the door, and Mary had to go answer, and there was that smug bastard - Mr. Richards. 

She wished, for not the first time, that she had time to take those classes with Annie just so she could punch that smug bastard in the face.

“Mrs. Simon. You haven’t been returning my calls.”

No shit.

“And you thought that was an invitation to visit?”

Mary really didn’t want Annie to be hearing this, but she was and Mary was feeling more and more powerless by the minute. She hated this.

“I’m just checking in on my client’s investment.”

Mary was certain he was, the stalking bastard - couldn’t kill her daughter, so now he thinks he owns her? “We’re fine. We don’t need anything now, thank you.” 

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been cashing the checks anymore. Is there a reason for this, or are you trying to build up a case against my client. Remember that you signed the NDA.”

And Mary was angry, because how could she not be. If Gotham were any less corrupt, she wouldn’t have to try and build a case - Lex Luthor would have immediately been tried for vehicular manslaughter. But Gotham  _ was _ corrupt, so Mary looked down, and nodded. “I understand. I’m not planning to take any legal action. But she’s just a child. I don’t understand what more you or your client could possibly want from her.”

“She’s an investment. An experiment if you will.” And then Mr. Richard looked at Annie and smirked. “And my client is eager to see the progress she’s making. You’re both invited to -”

“No thank you,” Mary interrupted. “We appreciate the offer, but we really have all these plans and they can’t be changed. Perhaps next time.”

Because Mary was not about to let her daughter  _ anywhere _ near that man.

“Well, it’s an open invitation, for as long as little Annie would like. Mr. Luthor would really appreciate it if you joined him in Metropolis for his New Year’s Party. This year and any that follow.”

Mary was already shutting the door in Mr. Richards face, even as she replied “Yes. We understand.Thank you. We have all these people to visit, however. Merry Christmas. Goodbye.”

She was never more thankful for the new Annie than when Annie suggested that her friends were waiting at the movie theater. This Annie just seemed to  _ understand _ there was more than meets the eye with her situation, but understood it was better to not ask just then.

_____

Annie’s lunch habits were becoming harder and harder to support and Mary didn’t realize why until a few days after she made Annie choose between take home lunch and lunch money. Annie had been looking off ever since, but when Mary was running late that morning and was unable to make lunch for once, just as she was dropping Annie off for school, something in Annie’s eyes lit up. And when Mary followed her daughter’s gaze, she saw the boy little five year old Annie had come home gushing about all those years ago. 

He was cute, but he looked thin, hungry, and . . .

And Mary realized why Annie had needed all that lunch money and packed lunch in that moment, as she watched her daughter leap out of the car and rush towards her friends. 

Mary wasn’t sure she liked the look of that boy, but it was one of the first signs Mary had seen of the old Annie in months - the Annie that definitely had a crush on the boy who had stopped some of the other kids from being mean to her when she was five and looked like she had more money than all of them combined.

So Mary made sure to forget to make lunch more, just to see the look on Annie’s face when she left for school, and always made larger dinners on the days she did. Because it was a sign the old Annie was still there - somewhere. And Mary needed that reminder.

_____

Easter that year was spent at the Falcone’s and Mary could not be more relieved, because she could at least predict the Falcone Family. It was the perfect ending to an otherwise terrifying school year.

And if Mary Simon got to brag about Annie’s grades, well . . . who could fault her for that? For some reason, though, Annie seemed out of sorts at the Easter lunch and continued, that whole summer, to act as if something was wrong - with Gotham, with Mary herself.

Mary couldn’t figure Annie out at all. Especially as school began that fall.

School began again for Annie, and things seemed to be going better. MMA lessons really seemed to tire Annie out. Annie didn’t want to go trick-or-treating that October, either - even though Mary had found such an excellent Catwoman costume. Mary thought it was almost a shame to have to put it away, but wel . . . Annie hadn’t grown really almost at all since the coma (maybe four inches) and so Mary figured the costume would keep.

And she figured, it wouldn’t hurt to keep Annie in the house more - fewer prying eyes, less chance of Luthor getting his claws into her daughter . . .

And then the Christmas Party happened. 

The Christmas Party Mr. Falcone was hosting was supposed to be fun.

Mary was supposed to be able to relax, like the Easter lunch. Except Lex Luthor was there, meeting her daughter, and being much too close for comfort.

And as they sit at the table, Mary came to the terrifying conclusion that Mr. Falcone knew - that he made it possible for Lex Luthor to be so close to her daughter. 

So when she got home that night she started packing, and when Annie was asleep, she continued to pack most of the rest of the house.

And the next morning they moved.

Mary quit her job with Mr. Falcone, because it was obvious he didn’t  _ really _ care, and found another lower paying job with the Wayne Industries sponsored Center for the Less Fortunate.

Mary was tired for working for the crooks of Gotham that just took advantage of everyone, and stabbed her in the back anyways. She figured it was time for a change.

It made bills that much harder to pay, though, and Mary found she could begin to sympathise with the vast majority of Gotham.

_____

Annie started to withdraw from her friends shortly after Valentine’s Day, two months before she turned thirteen, and Mary didn’t really know what to do. She knew why - she’d seen the news as it was happening, knowing she’d sent her daughter into that bank. But her daughter made it out alive - Mary supposed those MMA classes were good for  _ something. _

But even as the days went on, Mary could tell just from looking at her daughter - Annie seemed terrified that  _ something _ was going to come after her.

On Annie’s thirteenth birthday, Mary decided enough was enough and asked her daughter what was wrong. And that was when Mary found out her daughter was not who she thought she was.

And even as Annie talked about the other person in her head, the other person that was never her daughter, and  _ knew _ things she had no business knowing, Mary decided she didn’t care. Annie was still hers - still her baby. And she’d be damned if she let anyone hurt her.

She just hoped others didn’t realize how special Annie had become since she’d woken up from that coma.

A sinking feeling told her Luthor already had and would stop at next to nothing to make sure he had control over her daughter.

  
  



	7. Chapter 007

Chapter Seven 

I don’t know what I was expecting when I told mom the truth, but having her hug me and insist, even when I tell her I remember another mom, that she’s still my mom, is not it.

It’s nice, knowing that she still considers me her Annie. 

And then she tells me everything. She goes through the whole story about her legal battles for Mr. Falcone, how she thought the call from the police officer was just some kind of stunt to make her lose the court battle. She tells me how when she arrived at the hospital, she was told nothing could be done for me, and how Luthor was able to pay off all the officials to keep his name out of the paper and the case out of the courts.

She tells me how he basically bribed her and then proceeded to use some kind of experimental drug that she wasn’t even sure would work, but she was so desperate - and she doesn’t even know what was  _ in _ it, but it’s probably why I -

And she apologizes. She tells me it’s her fault I have powers and that I don’t remember her, but that I can still be her Annie, if I want. That she doesn’t care if I’m a metahuman. She’ll support me in whatever I want to do, whether it’s wear tights and save the world, or watch it burn.

And that’s so comforting, I almost forget what she said about Luthor’s experimental drug.

And I don’t even bat an eye when she curses even worse than me as I tell her who Batman  _ really _ is - she can’t believe she works for  _ Batman _ , now.

And so I’m . . . I’m Annie, I decide. 

I’m all that Annie can be in this world. I’m the product of an experiment. Did I even really exist before I was Annie? Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe there never  _ were _ comics . . .

But I take mom up on her offer. I’m still her little Annie.

I stay at home that summer, trying to figure out what I can actually do with these ‘powers’ and isn’t that a terrible thought? Mom encourages it, even though it’s not even like I’m in a city without its own resident superhero. Gotham has the bat - which apparently is taking on more little boy wonders, if the news is to be believed. 

News about Bruce Wayne adopting a kid off the streets of Gotham is everywhere.

I try not to pay too much attention, especially when the next school year starts (eighth grade, wow does time fly).

I don’t have Jason in any of my classes for some strange reason, and Emma and Sarah are no help. They just stare at me for a solid minute and then start giggling when I ask. 

But I have too much homework this year to focus on what gossip Emma and Sarah have.

Before I know it, it’s Halloween, and while mom doesn’t try to get me any new outfits, I can tell the new knowledge of my abilities makes her really want to try - I think she wants to design something for me. And of course Emma and Sarah really want to go back to Wayne manor - they try really hard to get me to budge, but nope. Not me. I don’t want to chance meeting Batman or Robin - though I’m pretty sure he’s still off in Bludhaven or wherever.

Emma and Sarah give me an unimpressed look, but whatever.

And then somehow Christmas rears its head and Jason is still nowhere to be seen, but it’s cool. I’m not panicking. Emma and Sarah don’t seem very worried, at least, and that’s good enough for me.

It has to be.

_____

Christmas this year is much easier. With the new apartment, mom and I just open our presents together in the kitchen, with no Christmas tree. It’s cool. There’s really no need, at this point. It’s just the two of us, and mom’s well aware I’m not actually thirteen.

Or at least I don’t  _ feel _ thirteen.

So we cook, we clean, we exchange gifts, and we enjoy hot chocolate and cookies while watching some Christmas movies.

All in all, it’s the calmest Christmas I’ve had in Gotham ever. 

I can’t help but feel like it’s too good to be true, that something bad is going to happen. Maybe not today or this month, but soon.

It gets me to beg mom to go on a camping trip over the summer in a secluded area so I can practice.

Amazingly enough, she agrees.

_____

I return to school with the promise of my summer camping trip to encourage me not to snap at Emma or Sarah. It’s close though. Really close.

I think they realize it too, because they’ve stopped inviting me to the movies (not that I ever went), to the parties (again, it’s not like I exemplify a party animal), and they’ve stopped sitting with me at lunch (and fuck you too, Sarah and Emma. I didn’t want to sit with you in the first place). It only hurts a little, I tell myself.

They were Annie-from-before’s friends. Not mine.

And it’s not even like they’re similar to mom, who accepted the new me too (and basically sold her soul to the devil to bring me back). 

So while I end the school year -  _ I can’t believe I’m already fourteen _ \- with little to no friends - mostly acquaintances because I’m not completely emotionally stunted, I just really was getting tired of Emma and Sarah’s obsessions with boys - and get ready to escape to the wilderness.

And we do. We go to a nice camping ground in Maine for the Summer and we mostly just hike and make smores. It’s nice.

Except then I go off on my own and try to control whatever it is that I did in that bank. And in that alley. And what it was that I didn’t do in that broom closet (I’m so happy nothing happened in that broom closet).

And it is one afternoon, in our three week trip, that I figure it out - the reason why I couldn’t do anything in that broom closet.

I hadn’t eaten this morning, and I haven’t eaten this afternoon. I’m hungry, just sitting by that lake, and trying to get something to happen - I know I can cause ripples in the water, or completely knock over a tree if I try hard enough - but nothing happens, and I just keep getting hungrier and hungrier, until the whole lake is quiet (not even the wind seems to be doing anything to the surface).

And that’s when it hits me. I’m hungry. I’m always hungry, but some days it's worse.

So I eat a sandwich - that I have packed as a reward in case I get it down - and all of a sudden, the lake is moving again and - crap.

There went the whole other shore of the lake.

And I’m tired. Should have brought more food.

_____

Somehow, mom brings me back to the campsite and I wake up sore and beyond hungry.

“You alright?”

“Hmmmm?” because I’m still not quite awake, and it hurts to think.

“You need food?” Mom seems way too fucking amused by this - but I don’t even care anymore.

“Hmmm, food. Yes, food. Please, I’m dying.”

Mom just laughs and hands me a plate of fish.

And ugh, cooked fish is weird, and I’m sick of it - it’s all we’ve been eating for the past few days, but I need food, and even though I’m tired of it, it smells divine, and my stomach is grumbling.

I slowly lose the fog over my senses as I eat, and I look towards mom, who while amused, also looks a bit worried.

“I figured it out.”

“What?” The worry’s still there, but she’s trying not to focus on it, I can tell.

“I figured it out - why nothing happened in the closet in seventh grade -” and wow, it’s already been almost a year a half - “I hadn’t had lunch that day, and my stomach growled, and . . . I think I need food to do it.”

Mom nods as if that makes sense, which no. It doesn’t not at all, why the fuck is she nodding.

“That explains your obsession with food.”

Did I not have one before? Because as far as I can remember, I’d always loved food - I didn’t eat as much, but I always loved it . . .

Mom rubs her thighs, a tell-tale sign of nervousness. “I guess we’ll just have to make sure you eat plenty. You really messed up that lakeshore, you know.”

And crap, how on Earth can we explain that?

“It’s probably best if we stay put though. If we leave, it’ll look suspicious. Just . . . try not to destroy too many landscapes.”

Yeah, sure. As if I have control over this (not yet, but hopefully one day - we live in a big city, after all).

_____

I start High School much too soon. Summer break was not nearly long enough, and I don’t feel like I learned enough about my ‘powers.’ But whatever, I guess life has to go on somehow.

I hate Science class, by the way. It’s just biology, but we’re not  _ only  _ studying Earth’s biology. Mr. Matthews is a die hard Superman fan. As such, half the lectures come back to Kryptonian physiology.

I’ve had about enough of this. Why doesn’t he just move to Metropolis? What the fuck is he still doing in Gotham? He’s worse than Ms. Carter, at least she can say he has a pretty face - she’s single. Mr. Matthews on the other hand? He’s married with three kids but still finds the space in his rather disorganized classroom to dedicate a whole corner to Superman.

I mean, seriously. It’s embarrassing.

And he always seems to pick on me in class. It’s so frustrating.

Since it’s no longer just Elementary and Middle School level, I actually have to study now - because it’s been way too long since I’ve gone over this stuff - but at the same time, I remember it still.

It makes studying so boring, because everytime I think, “wait, I don’t remember this” about five minutes later I realize, “nope. Still the same as before, I just forgot it for a hot second.”

Which absolutely sucks. Because I know the material, but if I don’t study, it won’t jog in this stupid brain of mine.

I’m about ready to throw my textbooks out my window.

But I don’t. Because I still really want to go to college and Gotham University is hard as hell to get into.

_____

I still hate Mr. Matthews, though.

_____

The end of October signifies Halloween again and while mom doesn’t get any costumes for me, we do get candy - mostly snickers bars because snickers is life - just in case we get any trick-or-treaters. 

We watch movies, I do homework, mom reviews cases, and I make brownies at one point because I get bored with biology and history.

History gives me the mother of all headaches with the Gotham, Metropolis, Central City, and fictional cities garbage. But mom helps me understand, and now that she knows I’m . . . different . . . my comments of “oh, so it’s like Chicago” don’t cause her to give me a confused look.

She looks amused instead.

Which is annoying as hell, but whatever.

It’s around ten o’clock at night that there’s a knock on the door. Mom looks confused, because we haven’t had a trick-or-treater in an hour and there’s no announcement that they’re expecting candy. Me? I eat a brownie just in case and head to the door.

“Pizza delivery.”

We didn’t order any fucking pizza.

I’m also not about to check the peephole. I’ve seen too many movies where the idiot that checks it gets shot and dies, and I’m not about that life.

So instead I wave at mom to hide and go to the side of the door, “We didn’t order pizza.”

“Seriously? Lady I’m going to get fired if I don’t deliver this.”

“We didn’t order any fucking pizza, who are you?”

Crap. I cursed out loud. Glancing at mom, she’s got this unimpressed expression on her face, and I know I’m going to hear words later.

“I’m with Gotham City Pizzeria. Take Action. Fight Back. Eat Pizza . . .” And isn’t that a ridiculous tagline?

“What’s the name on the order?”

“Annie Simon? Some dude called and made the order.”

Well. If he’s not going to leave . . . but I swear if he has a gun, I will blast his butt back so fast . . .

So I open the door.

He’s just a guy with a really bad acne problem, and he’s blinking down at me, getting all red in the face. And he  _ does _ just have pizza.

“Uh, hi . . . I’m Tyler.” He’s opening and shutting his mouth now. “You - You’re - Hi-”

“How much?” 

Because I really can’t deal with this - He’s - what? - sixteen years old? And, I mean  _ technically _ I’m fourteen, but he’s a  _ pizza delivery guy _ . And yeah, I love my food, but I’m way too in over my head to worry about how much this guy in front of me can’t string a full sentence in front of me.

“Um . . . it was twenty dollars.”

“Here.” Mom’s snuck up behind me with two bills - a twenty and a five - and she grabs the pizza, “Keep the change.” And shuts the door in his face.

Huh. Guess she didn’t like his ogling either. Cool

But, she’s just digging through the pizza box until she finds it - a slip of paper, saying, “Enjoy, Luthor.”

And fuck. He found us again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

_____

Mom doesn’t move us this time, but I can tell she’s more tense. I would be too, I mean, Luthor obviously seems like he’s not going to let this go - which I think is real rich, considering I’m pretty sure he was trying to kill me, not save me, when he gave mom the serum - whatever it was.

But whatever.

I’m not bitter. I’m not bitter at all.

I go back to school with a bit of a chip on my shoulder and leftover pizza for lunch. Damn Luthor. He sure knows how to pick good food . . .

I’m taking German as my language elective now - because I’ve had it up to here with ‘learning’ Spanish and I’m not about to see how bored I get with French. German’s the only other option in this stupid school - and it was such a bad idea. 

Why didn’t I just suck it up and continue with Spanish? German is so . . . So let’s be real. I love languages - all languages. And my problem’s not actually with German. It’s with my classmates. Since the beginning of the school year they’ve been nothing but a pain - making fun of me for my “crush” on Jason - I swear it had to have been Emma and Sarah.

I don’t even get why they’re so fixated with him - he’s pulled a vanishing act after all.

As you can obviously tell, I don’t actually give a shit what they’re saying, it’s just really annoying having to listen to it everyday in class and I’m seriously considering just testing out of French and Spanish and seeing if they’ll take that as my language credit.

They probably won’t but I’m willing to try because the little shits that I have to be around are annoying as fuck and won’t shut up.

_____

It was a stupid idea, going out in the middle of Christmas break, and I’d done well enough avoiding trouble for the past two years. And then I had to go ahead and head out for food - because I always need more food damnit.

Mom had suggested she go herself, but no.

I was feeling confident - I’d had plenty of food and hadn’t had any incidents that I couldn’t control since September (it was  _ one time _ and I was angry about Mr. Matthews’ superman assignment so I’d accidentally vibrated the soup pot into dust, my bad) and I thought I’d be okay going down two blocks to get chinese takeout. What was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, the two thug looking creeps didn’t get the memo and thought they’d have some fun with the fourteen year old girl that was stupid enough to go out at eight in the evening alone.

Bastards - I just wanted more food damnit.

So here I am, in an alley again, because when they first approached me, I at least thought to run away (stupid, why’d I head to the alley, it was a  _ fucking _ dead end). One of the creeps is lanky, and he  _ might  _ have been good looking if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes are way too sunken in and his teeth look like they’re rotting.

Don’t even get me started on the other guy - he is all that and worse.

And they’re smiling at me as they close in.

I raise my hands prepared to blast them - because what else can I do? I have bags of food wrapped around my wrists - and they just laugh.

Well fuck you too.

And then before I can actually do anything, one of the guys gets a solid kick to the side of his head by this red . . . and black . . . cape . . . thing . . .  and crap. I think my heart just stopped because that’s Robin and this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen him, and yep. There’s Batman taking out the other guy.

Why couldn’t you show up before I actually could defend myself - say a few years ago?

This is so surreal - this is Batman and Robin. And there Batman goes pulling Robin back from smashing the guy’s face in - wow, didn’t know he was so violent. I think I’m in shock.

“Robin! I told you to wait.”

Why the fuck would you wait?

“And watch them attack her?”

“Yeah, I’m with the Boy Wonder on this one, why the fuck would you do that?”

And fuck, they’re both staring at me - did I actually say that out loud? 

“You know what, forget it. I’m tired, I knew this was a terrible idea, mom told me she could get the food and I didn’t let her. I’ve learned my lesson. No going out at night. Got it.”

Robin looks like he’s about to say something - and I swear he looks familiar, but it’s too dark to make any details out and despite what I would have thought, the domino mask actually  _ does  _ hide a lot, what with this layer of white over his irises - but then he smirks, smiles a bit, and - Did he  _ wink  _ at me? I think Robin just winked at me. Fuck.

“Be careful, yeah? This is Gotham, you don’t know  _ what  _ creeps are lurking about. Do you need an escort home, Annie?”

Batman just elbowed Robin. And he knows my name. Fuck.

“Nope. Thanks. Bye.”

And this is so awkward, because Robin looks so confused about why I said no, and Batman is giving me the side-eye and causing me to have a mini heart attack. This is . . . this is terrifying walking just past them to get back to the street and out of this creepy alley.

The trip home is no less stressful, because I can see Robin and Batman on the rooftops just following along.

And I’m definitely not calm  _ in my own apartment _ , because what if they’re listening in?

“I’m home!”

“Oh, hey Annie, everything went fine?”

“Yup.” I debate telling her for about two seconds before, fuck it, “I met Batman.”

There goes my favorite mug.

“What?”

“Yeah, some guys thought it would be cool to mess me with me and Robin showed up first . . . and then Batman . . . they saved the day.”

Mom looks stunned and she sits down on the couch looking as if she’s about to faint.

“They saved you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they . . . know who you are.”

“Does it really matter?” Because yes, Robin most certainly knows my name and there’s nothing I can do about it, so why should I bother mom with that knowledge?

“No . . .”

Mom still looks worried as we dig into the orange chicken.

_____

I go back to school after Christmas and I don’t obsess over Robin. I don’t. I don’t think about his smile or the fact that he completely ignored Batman to save me.

I don’t.

Because  _ I do not have a crush on Robin.  _

I’ve been telling myself this for a month solid, but it’s hard to believe when I’m a hair short of digging through the internet looking up information on him - the new ward of Bruce Wayne. 

But I can’t. I can’t because  _ somehow _ he knows my name - Robin knows my name - and this isn’t the boy that I saw my first Halloween in Gotham, this is someone else. And  _ fuck _ .

How? What? Why?

And why the fuck had Batman told him to wait? Wait for what?

I’m behind on homework for once, because of this. This isn’t healthy, obsessing over him.

So instead I have the worst semester ever - not grades wise. I still get my homework done in time. But I’m pulling all nighters to get it done, and I’m about to collapse in exhaustion. That’s how it goes, when I turn fifteen. Easter passes, with thankfully no more sightings of Batman or Robin. But I can’t help but freak out, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, at the end of April, it does.

It’s a normal morning. I wake up really late - it’s the kind of late where you get suspicious because of how much sleep you’re getting - and so I get out of bed and head to the kitchen where mom is sipping a cup of coffee and staring at the newspaper with a sad expression on her face.

I know something’s wrong because it’s a school day and it’s already ten o’clock in the morning. Mom puts the newspaper down, and I see him on the front page - Jason - and it’s saying he’s dead and that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward and . . . 

Well that explains how he knew my name.

“I figured you’d want to stay home today, considering . . . you used to have a crush on him before the coma, and I know . . . I know you tried to help him later . . .”

I can’t get his face out of my head. Jason - he was Robin - and he’s dead. Robin is dead? Jason and Robin and  -  _ Jason saved me _ .

“Yeah.” I manage to breathe out as I make my way to mom and the newspaper.

I don’t even notice when mom brings me into a hug, I’m still staring at Jason’s face on the front page.

It’s not fair, I decide in the days that follow. I’m alive, but I had already lived a longer life than him, and Jason was - what? - fifteen? Why is  _ he  _ dead. This is so unfair. This has to have had something to do with Bruce being Batman. This has to be about something else.

How can he be dead?

_____

Life goes on. I learn how not to badly injure someone with my sonic vibrations of doom, as I start to call them. 

I also don’t leave my mom’s office without her. Because this is Gotham, and I can at least protect her, even if I can’t protect anyone else.

_____

A/N: At the beginning of this chapter, Annie is thirteen, by the end, she is fifteen and about to start her second year of High School.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight 

Sophomore year begins with a much more subdued atmosphere than freshman year. Everyone’s talking about how Jason died. Sarah and Emma almost look like they want to speak to me, but they don’t.

Even Mr. Matthews - though thank God I don’t have him this year - doesn’t gush about Superman as much.

I can’t help but be a little upset at everyone. None of them noticed Jason all that much before. They all saw him as a troublemaker - even if his grades were practically perfect.

I’m pretty sure at one point he was buying drugs.

Honestly, it’s a wonder to me how he ever became Robin . . .

But now he’s gone and everyone’s acting like they were his friend. Jason didn’t  _ have  _ friends - as sad as it is to say. He was a troubled kid, and a more troubled teen, but I think I kind of saw him as my friend . . . in a way . . .

I’ve given up on German, this year, and switched to Spanish, because as much as my grades for German were perfect, I know I can’t stand another second with those classmates of mine.

I hate this city, I hate these people, I wish Jason didn’t have to fucking die. He was a kid. He’s more of a kid then I ever was! I don’t remember Robin ever dying! Did I make this happen? Or did I just completely miss that when I was too busy reading about the Winter Soldier and Captain America and fuck!

Why didn’t I read DC Comics?

Why did Jason die?

Even though logically I know I couldn’t have done anything, because how the hell was I supposed to know I’d end up here, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.

So I return to school and like everyone I’m mildly depressed.

Science class this year - Chemistry - is run by Mr. Braxton. And lo and behold he’s a Batman fan - thank God it’s not Superman, I don’t think I could take another year of that.

“Ms. Simon, are you paying attention?”

No.

“Yes.”

My mouth lies faster than my brain, apparently, cool.

“Then you can tell me what I just said.”

Crap, crap, crap - guess.

“Batman’s awesome?”

Oh, he’s glaring at me now. Fantastic. Should have just told the truth from the beginning.

“What specifically?”

Fuck. “I don’t remember, you were saying lots about him and . . .” I don’t exactly agree with him right now anyway. Batman sucks. He let Jason die, after all - he’s on my shit list. “Aren’t we supposed to be learning about Chemistry anyway?”

More glares. Great. Just what I need.

Except he doesn’t send me to the Principal's office (I don’t think that actually happens at this age anymore anyway) I guess because he doesn’t want me to blab about him not teaching Chemistry.

But, I swear, if I’m the only one who does well in this class, I will break something.

And is he  _ still _ talking about Batman? What the actual fuck?

“Ms. Simon! Detention.”

Crap. Well fuck you too, Mr. Braxton.

It’s a long class, and I’m not even allowed to leave until he fills out the detention form and gives me instructions - which of course makes me late to my next class. Which of course gives me another detention.

Forget it - no fucks for you, Mr. Braxton - you don’t deserve it.

_____

Detention sucks. Like really. I didn’t know how much it would suck until I had it and it really is worse than having a stomach bug. Don’t do it. 

Avoid detention. 

At all costs.

Because - of course - Mr. Matthews is in charge and waxing poetic about Superman. He even throws in a couple of comments here and there about how if Superman were nearby, he could’ve saved Jason.

It’s taking everything I have to not to break something. Like seriously - Gotham’s not even on a fault line, but it’s a hair's breadth away from having the biggest earthquake. Ever.

“Ms. Simon, can you tell me what the source of Kryptonian superiority comes from?” 

Why? Why me?

No, I don’t want to and he can’t make me. I try not to roll my eyes. I know it will only get me into more trouble. “Is this really necessary?” I ask instead.

“Yes! This is Science!”

Bull. Shit.

“A yellow sun - that’s what gives Superman his strength.”

Because if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times in Mr. Matthew’s class over the past year.

“Correct, Ms. Simon! I don’t know why Mr. Braxton seemed so upset with you!”

I hear “teachers pet” behind me and try not to turn around.

Is it my fault his chair mysteriously slides backwards and drops the guy on his butt?

Well . . . yes, but there’s no proof so there - keep messing with me, buster, see where that gets you.

_____

November is colder than usual this year, and the utility bill seems to have skyrocketed.  _ I hate this cold, it’s horrible.  _ Mom is doing her best at the Center for the Less Fortunate, but she’s on a salary, a small salary, but a salary, so there’s not much she can do to make more money.

I notice we’re still receiving Luthor’s checks, but we don’t cash them. I think mom has a shredder here somewhere . . .  I consider trying to get a job, because I’m almost old enough - except there aren’t a lot of jobs in Gotham anyway. And even though mom is a lot more open with me about our situation now that she knows I  _ know _ , she still I think sees me as a child. Which is kind of nice but at the same time, I don’t need this and she  _ definitely _ doesn’t deserve this after all the shit Luthor’s put her through.

We stop eating out so much, and I don’t really put up much of a fight about it because hey I’m not giving my lunch away anymore, so it’s not even like the lunch money means anything to me.

But I know I really need a job and so I start searching.

Unfortunately for me, the only jobs that are hiring are bartending jobs, and you have to be at least eighteen for those. Not only that, but as a minor, I’m limited on how many hours I can work and how late.

Which really sucks, because Gotham’s already not that friendly to children.

No wonder so many people turn to crime, and no wonder mom worked for the mob for so long.

And of course, I’m doing all this behind mom’s back, so . . . I quit MMA classes. I’ve learned tons, and it hurts to quit, because it’s become more of a hobby than anything else - and  _ I can do backflips, handstands, and I can beat people up without my powers _ .

But the gym’s expensive and there’s so much more that we can use that money for - like food.

And thus ends my lessons in badassery.

_____

It’s Christmas Eve when I run into Batman again and I swear, I’m not doing this on purpose. It’s just . . . this is Gotham, and I’m a girl, and crime seems to follow girls in this city way too much. 

Mom’s working late, and I figure - I’m fifteen years old; I’m badass; I don’t need anyone’s help.

And I don’t - need anyone’s help, that is. But the thugs of the neighborhood don’t exactly know that (and I guess since I’m so short they don’t think anything’s dangerous about me either) and so when they corner me, I’m so over it (emotionally) that I just start spouting nonsense.

See the thing was because mom was working late, and I was feeling confident on Christmas eve, I decided to surprise mom with homemade spaghetti bolognese. I’d bundled up because of the snow and the food was in a nice covered pyrex because I despise plastic. The only downside was that I couldn’t easily put the food down when the two men in dire need of a dental cleaning, braces, and a bath corner me with two really rusty looking guns.

“Really? Seriously? It’s Christmas Eve!” See? Nonsense.

“Hello, girlie, ready for some fun.”

“Not even in my worst nightmares.” I’m shaking my head, but he’s just smiling (gross) at me. So nonsense doesn’t work - maybe complaining about the food? Also known as further nonsensical bullshit? “You know, I worked really hard on this, this really sucks, couldn’t you at least let me -”

“Go ahead and put it down, we’ve got time.”

Ugh. Just the thought . . . this guy really needs to see a dentist. And maybe get some dentures, it’s that bad.

And then I don’t know why but Batman’s here stopping them,  _ again _ . I guess he doesn’t need Jason jumping the gun this time. Maybe it’s the food? 

Huh. He’s really going at these thugs . . . and while they’re groaning and struggling to run away, he turns to me.

“Where’s Robin.” I ask, before I can stop myself because a small part of me wants to hurt Batman for not saving Jason - it’s the dark part of me that doesn’t care if the world burns as long as those I love stay safe (which okay, means the world can’t  _ really _ burn, but I don’t really love anyone here except mom) . . .

And woah, I almost fall backwards because of this . . . body . . . in front of me -  _ way too close _ . I definitely take a step back and almost lose my footing because of it and crap - the food in my arms is getting  _ really _ heavy with the prolonged support.

And now the body in front of me is expecting a handshake.

“Nightwing, at your service!” He’s got a bright smile, and the mask - the mask with the color of his eyes hidden -  _ it’s so weird! _

“Hi.”

He stares at me, limb still outstretched, and I stare back, while Batman just watches on.

After a solid ten seconds he lowers his arm and laughs awkwardly.

“Of course, your hands are full, how silly of me.”

“It’s Annie Simon, right?”

Batman knows my name.  _ Batman knows my name _ . I’m not even going to try to deny it this time - I’m totally freaking out.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Woah! Language!”

I throw a glare at Nightwing before turning back to Batman.

“Your mother is a former employee of Carmine Falcone and currently works at the Wayne-sponsored Center for the Less Fortunate.”

“So?” Because I call bullshit. Bruce Wayne does not know the names of all his employees, and Batman has even less of a connection to “the Wayne-sponsored Center for the Less Fortunate.”

“You were also in a coma for a year as the result of a car accident when you were eight years old, the details of which were covered up, right?” 

Fuck. He really does his research.

“And?”

“And,” Batman stops. He almost doesn’t say anything, but then he says, “Something happened that made you wake up, right - from the coma? You would have been fine if Nightwing and I hadn’t shown up, right? Like that time in the bank?”

Well . . . when all else fails,  _ deny deny deny! _

“And I suppose you’re going to blame my lack of height on the coma too? Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about and mom’s food’s getting cold. So. Bye.”

I move to walk right past them, but Nightwonderdude stops me with a hand on my arm.

“No need to go so quickly. Batman obviously still has questions.”

And I snap, pulling my arm away and holding the spaghetti closer to my chest.

“Why does any of it matter? I’m not a superhero. I’m just a kid that didn’t ask for any of this and just wanted a normal life. And don’t give me the whole ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ speech, I’ve heard it all before. It only leads to the people you love getting hurt. So thanks, but no thanks. I’d like to continue living my life without worrying about supervillains trying to kill me and mine. I don’t want to end up like you.”

And then I brush past the two vigilantes and hurry on to mom’s office freaking out just a bit because  _ I just quoted Spiderman to Batman _ . . . Did I really do that? I think I did . . .

“Annie? What are you  _ doing  _ here?”

Huh, looks like my feet moved faster than my head this time.

I lift the food a bit, “I brought food.”

Her face  _ almost _ makes me want to fight the world for her and start jumping through the rooftops of Gotham just to keep her safe - but I know the best way to protect her is to lay low so of course I won’t

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t have to!”

She looks so excited.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re still working.” I remind her as she grabs some paper plates and plastic forks (plastic forks . . . great - after all the trouble I went through for the pyrex). “Sorry if the foods a little cold. I spent a little too much time outside.”

“No worries!” 

She sticks it in the microwave and I glare.

“Sure, nuke up my hard work.”

She laughs - because sure I get it, I’m hilarious. Doesn’t change the fact that she just made my masterpiece into something like Chernobyl.

I’m trying not to remember my interaction with my mom’s sort-of-boss and his sort-of-son (are they father and son? I don’t even know because stupid me didn’t bother to do more than briefly watch the main movies more than once, and most of them as a child with a couple tv shows thrown in for good measure).

Still, mom’s face as she takes a bite of that nuked spaghetti looks so happy - “Where did you  _ get  _ this recipe?”

“A cookbook in another language . . .”

And she laughs, and even though she has to work Christmas Eve, as we walk home together - mom’s holding the pyrex this time - it’s still one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had . . .

The next week, when mom comes home from work, she has thoughtful look on her face. And even as she puts her house keys down in the hall and tells me she got a promotion, I can feel my stomach drop. 

Because Batman totally ignored everything I said, from my Spiderman quote to my claim that supers live sucky, depressing lives.

Mom’s new job means better money and better hours. But it also means she’s going to be working at Wayne Tower and she’ll be working more closely with the executives.

So, mom basically went from one hovering billionaire in Metropolis to another. I decide not to tell her Batman knows. Let her think she earned that promotion - it’s the  _ least  _ I can do. 

Bruce Wayne is a fucking manipulative bastard, though. 

_____

When I go back to school in January, I try to play it cool. I don’t want detention again. At all. But, it doesn’t work out so well.

I think Mr. Braxton has a personal vendetta against me or something because every little thing - he just grabs onto it and pulls that one thread - it’s as if he just  _ knows _ what it’ll take for me to just go off.

Because one second he’s talking about how this past summer Batman put the Joker in a body cast, and the next thing I know, I’m in detention with a sore throat.

I think I went on a rant about how much of a self righteous bastard I think Batman is for not killing the psychos like the Joker . . . because maybe if Batman were just a bit more ruthless he might have saved - Robin. I know I said Robin, not Jason. I can’t really remember very clearly what happened, but I didn’t say Jason.

I don’t know why I went off - maybe because Batman sent Joker to the hospital shortly after Jason died; maybe because I just want  _ someone _ to blame for his death; maybe since my social group really just consists of me and my mom,  and I don’t really have a good support group and it’s finally taking its toll on me . . .

I am in  _ dire  _ need of friends . . .

The only upside to the situation is that at least Mr. Matthews is not in charge of detention this time (and thank God it’s only detention - I really don’t need anything worse on my records for dual enrollment).

And I’m not alone either . . . apparently Emma had an . . . altercation with her math teacher that I totally missed . . . because apparently I was in German.

She’s totally ignoring me - rude.

I guess that means I should reciprocate? I get about a sentence into my English essay before I look back at her again - and she looks upset.

And I don’t want to talk because we’re in detention, and for the most part I’m a stickler for the rules - this situation not withstanding - and I really don’t want to get on anymore shit lists.

So, I continue writing my essay. It’s during this that I get a wad of paper to the head which really makes me upset and I might have retaliated with a small shake of the room - not too noticeable, but enough to be an inconvenience.

I don’t even want to read the note now, because it has to be a note. Besides. It’ll probably bug Emma to no end. So I ignore it, and the wad of paper stays on the floor.

It’s after we’re released from detention that Emma chases after me.

“Hey! Wait up, Annie!”

I don’t wait up.

Maybe that makes me a horrible person - but oh crap, she’s running and has caught up to me.

“What?”

“I just . . .” she doesn’t even look like she knows what she wants to say.

After a long pause, I respond, “Look I really need to get home.” The expression on her face, though, makes me pause and add, “But call? We should watch that new movie coming out this weekend. Like old times.”

She attempts a half-smile and nods, “Yeah.”

I get home, and leave the house keys hanging by the door, before heading to the kitchen to begin dinner. Mom seems stressed out lately, and mom doesn’t stress bake, so it’s more my job to make food. Which is fine, because I don’t have anything better to do and food is life, but mom being stressed is worrying.

I don’t even know what it’s about this time. She just always seems just a little too high strung.

She comes home that evening, and we don’t talk about it, as usual. It’s months later that I look back and wish we had.

_____

It’s Spring Break at the end of March and I’m waiting at home for mom to come home tonight. There’s a thunderstorm raging outside, and it makes me worried, because it’s as strong as a hurricane (not really, just kind of close), and I know there have been storms worse than this in Gotham, but for some reason . . . I’m feeling anxious. I’ve been through plenty of storms in Gotham at this point, but it just  _ feels _ different this time.

Maybe it’s because all the other times storms have gotten this bad, mom calls and let’s me know she’ll be getting a cab from work.

Maybe it’s because mom’s still not home.

I don’t know.

But I wander the apartment, cleaning, eating, making food, cleaning again. I lay on the couch reading some more history books - some of these read like fiction what with the superhero interludes. I don’t turn on the television because I’m not  _ that _ bored yet.

I continue cleaning and eating.

And then the phone rings. I pick up, because thank goodness mom’s finally calling. Only that’s not mom’s voice, though it does seem vaguely familiar.

“Hello, Annie Simon?”

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Lex Luthor. I just wanted to -” I hung up.

Because crap he’s getting bold - calling our apartment directly. There’s a knock on the door and - please be mom.

I’m still annoyed from the phone call when I open the door and see the two police officers.

“Hello, are you Annie Simon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Ramirez and this is Detective Carrey of the GCPD. Can we come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

What? My mom’s a lawyer, I’m not just letting them in for no reason.

“No, we just need to talk. It’s about your mother.”

“She’s not doing anything illegal, if that’s what you want to know. She works for the -”

There’s something about their faces as they interrupt me, “Your mother was found this evening.” What? No. No. This . . . please let it just have been an accident and she’s still alive. “Can we do this inside.”

“No.”

I’m not letting them inside - what if they found her with drugs? Not that mom does that . . .

Detective Ramirez sighs, looking down as he purses his lips, “It would be better if we did this inside, but . . . your mother was found dead. We’re sorry, but we’re going to need you to come with us.”

“Ms. Simon?” the other officer says, because I think I heard wrong and I . . . I think I’m in shock.

“Yeah?”

They look at me expectantly, and finally I just nod, grab the keys, and follow them.

_____

The day of Mrs. Simon’s funeral is gray. It’s also my birthday - which, you know, sucks. I can’t help but feel like it’s  _ my _ fault. Somehow.

Is she dead because she was protecting me from Luthor? Is she dead because I couldn’t protect her? Was it just some random act of violence?

The phone call from Luthor begins to really bug me, though.

If he had  _ anything _ to do with her death, I’m going to make his life so difficult he won’t even know what hit him.

The people at mom’s funeral are all colleagues from work. Interestingly enough, Mr. Falcone also shows up along with his whole entourage. And Emma and Sarah show up (people at school have apparently been gossiping because I’ve been excused from school these past few days).

I let them surround me and glare at other people, because I don’t want to deal with anyone else - it’s slightly reminiscent of how everything had been after I woke up from the coma.

Immediately after, when everyone’s in my apartment eating and offering condolences, I see him - Mr. Luthor. He stays away, for the first thirty minutes, eyeing the police officers that hang around (they say they’re taking care of my living arrangements).

Still, as the afternoon goes on, and the storm that’s been brewing all day finally follows through on its promise, people begin to leave. Except for Mr. Luthor and Mr. Falcone, who for some reason, seems to be eyeing Mr. Luthor with  _ something _ . 

“Annie, I’m -”

“Mr. Falcone, I remember.”

He smiles, and it’s not creepy. Not creepy at all. Mr. Luthor’s glowering is more terrifying, to be honest, and I’m kind of grateful the police officers are directly behind me.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know, if you need anything - anything at all - feel free to ask me.”

And then he leaves and Mr. Luthor smiles and motions to me, and I’m fucking confused.

“What?” I ask.

“Mr. Luthor here has applied to be your guardian.”

What?

“You’re joking.”

“You’ll love Metropolis.”

“I’m not fucking moving to Metropolis.” I say, turning to the police officers. “You know he’s the reason I was in a coma for a year right? You know he’s the reason my father is dead, right? I’m not going  _ anywhere _ with him.”

The police officers look like they don’t even know how to respond.

“But . . .”

I leave the apartment heading down the stairs, and calling out to Mr. Falcone before he enters his limousine.

“Mr. Falcone.” He turns around and I walk up to him, “You said anything, right? Well, you didn’t do much to stop Luthor from butting into our lives before, but if he takes me from Gotham . . . please don’t let him take me from Gotham.”

I feel really powerless in that moment.

The police officers are coming up behind me, and Luthor is right there too.

“I’ll take it from here, officers,” Mr. Falcone says.

They shift their feet a bit, and then look to Mr. Luthor who holds Mr. Falcone’s gaze for a hot second.

And then he nods and the two officers leave.

“You going to make a problem out of this?”

“I don’t know, are you going to take her from Gotham by force?”

“I invested a lot into her -”

I interrupt, “You take me from Gotham and I  _ will _ kill you.”

And then both men look at me with surprise in their eyes.

“Oh please,” Luthor says as he tries to brush off my threat.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“I’m sure, but the courts have already -”

“It won’t matter in two years anyway. I’m sixteen years old and I refuse to go with you. If I have to I’ll fight for emancipation. And don’t even think I don’t have it in me. You have  _ no  _ idea what I will or will not do.”

“Mr. Luthor, do you really want to start a war with her? And have her living in your house?” 

Mr. Falcone seems too fucking amused and Luthor looks to be glaring. I don’t even care - as long as I don’t go with him. I  _ can’t _ go with him. I  _ will _ kill him.

And he seems to decide my threats aren't worth two years of proximity, at least for now.

_____

Mr. Falcone gets me a probably illegal job at one of his clubs within the week and fakes an ID for tax purposes. I don’t know how I honestly feel about this, except it’s one of the only jobs available in this city, and technically, I’m old enough to work. And since the apartment is completely paid for all I have to worry about is taxes, which Mr. Falcone said he’d take care of, paperwork wise. Summer has never been longer, but I had missed working, and it’s not all bad. I think word gets out that Mr. Falcone got me the job, so I don’t get harassed by patrons as much as some of my coworkers. Which makes me angry, but at this point there’s not much I can do.

With the start of my first year of dual enrollment and my job at the club, my hands are full.

I take classes on Business this time around, because as much as I loved my old major, I  _ can’t _ go to the field I worked in if I want to keep a low profile (though at this point it’s pretty much a moot point as mom’s gone and I have no one left to protect). And it’s not like I’ve forgotten what those majors taught me. This just means I’ll be able to get a small job at Wayne enterprises or maybe I can go to Law school and join the Center for the Less Fortunate.

It’s something to think about.

Either way, it’s hard because I have bills to pay, and my food habits are hard to sustain. It’s stressful, and each month it gets harder and harder to shred those checks from Lex Luthor.

I do it, because a small part of me is pretty sure he killed mom (I came to that conclusion shortly after he left) and I’m not giving him any chance to take me to court and say I can't take care of myself. 

At this point, though I start to contemplate ending him - Superman obviously won't and neither will Batman - but me? I have no such moral dilemmas.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine 

This year, for Halloween, I head out on my own late at night. Because I just can’t sit still at home and I just need to get away from studying for the macroeconomics and computing tests coming up next week.

I don’t have to work today, which is totally a plus, but I’m still tired beyond all belief. This is worse than commuting ten hours a week to school and working over the summer. Yes, I live within two miles of the community college, but between public transit, homework, and my  _ job _ I’m barely keeping it together.

I can barely find time to eat (all the protein, practically  _ just _ protein) - and I haven’t been able to sleep as much. I’m just lucky I get to eat a bunch when I  _ do  _ eat - thank goodness for home cooked meals being cheaper than takeout.

Still, even as I walk to the nearest convenience store this Halloween, there’s  _ something _ hanging over everyone.

And as I enter the store, I stop because . . . that’s either a really good costume, or that’s Nightwing buying a sandwich. . .

I grab my things - milk, bread, and coffee beans, before getting in line behind him.

He turns around, and seems to stare for a moment before he turns back to the register and handing the guy some cash - where did he even keep that? That’s a skintight suit! - Then it’s my turn, but as my stuff is getting rung up, Nightwing leaves the store,  _ and then hangs out by the exit. _

Before I leave the store, I make sure to take a bite of my own sandwich I had the guy make (to stall for time and fuel . . . just in case) - just to see if Nightwing will hang out longer.

He does.

So when I leave the store, Nightwing falls into step beside me.

“So . . .”

“Go away.”

“How have things been since . . .”

“Since you guys ‘saved me?’ Nothing much. My mom died, so you know . . Batman failed again.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, until, “How did you know Robin died? And that Batman couldn’t save him?”

And fuck.

I don’t say anything and just keep walking, which doesn’t seem to sit well with him.

“Hey -”

He grabs my arm, and I immediately go into defense mode, pushing him away and  _ maybe  _ adding a little of my vibrations of doom. He’s a solid wall of muscle, though and I don’t think I would have been able to move him if it had not been for the extra push I had put in - he certainly seems surprised I was able to do it.

I don’t dare look at him until he steps forward again.

His mask hides his eyes with the white lens thing. . . but he still looks the same, and even a little like the boy I’d seen all those years ago on the stairs in Wayne Manor - on Halloween ironically enough.

“Your voices don’t change all that much, you know”- yup , his eyes just widened a bit -“and I knew him. Before he was Robin. The masks don’t hide as much as you seem to think it does. Anyway aren’t you supposed to be hanging out in Bludhaven?”

He must be in shock cause he’s definitely not saying anything and he looks like I just told him the world is ending and that he  _ believes me _ .

And he lets me go home; doesn’t even say anything.

But, I know it’s not the last I’ve heard of it.

To be fair, most of what I said is common knowledge - Nightwing  _ is  _ supposed to be in Bludhaven, and I don’t name names.

_____

The next six weeks, are spent doing homework and digging through mom’s files and computer, and ignoring the newspaper tabloids about the newest Robin - some other kid Batman’s taken under his wing - poor moron.

I try not to pay too much attention, I know I’ll just get angry.

It’s in my daily routine that I come across the folder entitled “Annie” in my mom’s email.

And me - being the curious person I am - clicks on it. It’s nothing incriminating - about mom, at least. In fact, it’s a little bit of proof against others. And the more I read, the more I realize why she named the folder after me.

The folder is filled with pages upon pages of emails, the oldest dating back to when I first was in the coma.

And the more I read, the more angry I get.

Because the most recent? Well the most recent is from the week before mom died.

Almost every single email is written by Mr. Richards - that bastard lawyer that stopped by our apartment all those Christmases ago.

I even find the email where he tells mom about my serum - the email is disturbingly vague as to  _ what _ the treatment even is.

Mr. Richards spends most of the emails trying to convince mom to send me to Metropolis, and they get progressively aggressive, not outright threatening, but there’s definitely a subtext there.

And this must be what made mom so stressed some days - reading these emails, and why she probably dumped them in this folder.

It makes me so angry, that I go the a gym - not the MMA gym, one with just weights and the treadmill - and as I struggle to keep the vibrations in - my hands are shaking - I run. I can’t handle the excess energy right now.

I run and run. I run for three miles and then I run some more.

Because now I have proof that it’s my fault - my fault mom was killed. It’s nothing I can bring to court, but it’s definitely my fault. Because Luthor threatened her, and she protected me.

Half of me wants to run to Metropolis and level it to the ground, just to make Luthor pay. Thank God I’m too fucking tired. As it is, when I get home, I don’t bother eating anything and simply collapse on my bed.

_____ 

I spend Christmas in my little apartment because I don’t want to go outside in the middle of this weather, even though Sarah and Emma are making an effort and trying to get me to go out more, but I definitely do not want to chance having another heart to heart with any other vigilantes in this stupid city.

I try not to keep the heater running to high - because bills are a pain and adulting is hard - but that doesn’t keep me from wrapping myself up in a blanket and drinking hot chocolate.

I miss her - mom. This is the first Christmas I’ve  _ ever _ spent on my own, and I don’t really know how to handle it. This . . . this sucks. I had been a part of a huge family before and yet here I was with  _ no one _ on Christmas. I didn’t even have work to keep me occupied, because Mr. Falcone said he’s already pushing it with giving me a job and letting me work as many hours as I do.

Personally, I think he just doesn’t want to pay Holiday Pay, but whatever.

So I’m here. Alone.

And I’m trying not to cry, because I’m not some stupid damsel, but . . .

And then there’s a knock on the door.

_ Please don’t be Luthor. Please don’t be Luthor _ . 

Because if it’s Luthor, I can’t promise I won’t kill him. I open the door and  -

That’s . . . that’s not Luthor.

That is a very good looking guy in a Santa Hat holding a sack of presents.

“Hi! I’m Dick Grayson with Wayne’s Center for the Less Fortunate.” He consults a list, before smiling at me, “Are you Annie Simon?”

Fuck.

Should I just slam the door on him? I should just slam the door on him. 

So of course I open the door wide.

Apparently I need to work on having my body actually do what I want it to . . .

He doesn’t look like he wants to come in, but I guess I don’t look too threatening, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket, with fuzzy slippers, pajamas, and with a mug of hot chocolate proclaiming “I don’t do mornings” because he cautiously follows me as I meander to the kitchen.

“So . . .”

“Why are you here?” I ask, as I take a sip and stare at him - you know he’s not too bad looking, to be perfectly honest. He’s actually quite handsome. 

I still don’t like him though. It’s the principal of the thing.

He raises an eyebrow, “I told you, I’m with the Center for the Less Fortunate-”

“I got that part,” I interrupt, “ it still doesn’t really explain what you’re doing here. Just spit it out, what do you want?”

Then he frowns.

“You-” he really does not look like he wants to say anything, and that’s when it dawns on me. He’s not completely certain I know who he is, is he?

I take another sip of the hot chocolate, “Look Mr. Former-Boy-Wonder, whatever you have to say, spit it out.”

His jaw tenses at that and he looks me straight in the eye.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Whatever. It’s not like I’m about to scream it from the rooftops. What do you want?”

He stares at me for a solid minute before asking me, “You’re a metahuman, aren’t you?”

I don’t say anything, I just take a long gulp of my hot chocolate and when it’s done I turn around to the sink, filling the mug with water to let it soak.

“It’s okay if you are, it’s just I was wondering if you wanted to join this group we -”

“I’m fine on my own, thanks,” I interrupt him before he can get too far. It sounds like a pitch, and I really don’t want to join whatever group he has. I have enough on my plate, I don’t need to add vigilantism to my workload. Half the teams in this world deal with way too many near world ending events. Plus, I’m a prisoner until my eighteenth birthday in a way. I need to watch every move I make.

He frowns a bit, and then “If you knew him, like you say you did . . . he wouldn’t have wanted -”

I snort because I can’t help it. Did he and I know the same Jason?

“Jason was obnoxious and annoying, what with his thinking I needed saving or that I pitied him or whatever, but considering he died doing that stuff, I hardly think he’d be too bothered that I don’t want to get myself killed.”

He looks shocked for a second, but then he bursts out laughing.

“I see why he liked you!” And then he clasps my shoulder (take your fucking hand off me) and his smile falls a little, as if he’s sad. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. You don’t  _ have  _ to do it alone. You know, he used to be on this team too. . .”

“More reason not to join, yeah?”

Again with the smile that almost looks strained, and then he‘s out the door, leaving his big bag of - something.

It makes me a little upset, that he got the last word in. . . but it quickly goes away when I open the bag to find lots of food and a couple of books and movies.

_____

School start again, and my days are spent in the library doing research on Luthor’s main building (only hard copy books!) - and attempting to put my computer classes to good use with practice on hacking Wayne Enterprises - there’s not too much danger in that, Wayne’s a good guy, but getting caught hacking Luthor? 

Not me. Not today.

I get away with it for maybe a week, finding a bunch of useless intel - useless because I already know Wayne Enterprises funds Batman’s activities - before there’s an insistent knocking on my window.

And there he is again - Batman and  _ another fucking Robin _ .

I try not to look too guilty as I look into the face of the man whose business I hacked.

“Why are you hacking into Wayne Enterprises?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the act. We know you caught a bunch of data from Wayne Enterprises hard drives -” and what the fuck does the little bird think he’s doing?!

“Hey! That’s my laptop!”

“Sorry, we have to take this.”

And no. No fucking way. That’s my laptop and I spent good money on that.

“I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know - I’m just practicing.”

They don’t look impressed, but at least it stops the boy wonder from getting too far with my laptop.

“Practicing for what?”

I turn to face Batman, and get so unreasonably angry.

“Trying to find out who killed my mom. I need to learn how to hack. I figured hacking  _ you _ would be safe enough, seeing as you refuse to kill even the  _ Joker _ , and I need to learn how to not get caught.”

Robin looks impressed, but Batman - he looks like he’s done.

“Who are you going to hack next?”

I’m not telling him my plans. Besides if he can’t figure that out on his own that I’m going to be going after Luthor, he doesn’t even deserve the moniker of “The world’s greatest detective.”

“Take a guess.”

“We have better resources than -”

“I don’t need your help. Now give me my laptop back, please.”

Robin looks hesitant, and keeps turning to Batman who slowly,  _ finally, _ nods.

“Try not to get in too deep.”

I half-smile, “of course, I don’t want to die.”

Except that’s not exactly true, is it? I don’t exactly have anyone to live for, after all.

At least my lie gets them to leave. 

I sigh and open up my laptop -  _ fuck. _ They wiped the hard drive back to the original factory setting.  _ Fuck you, Batman, what the actual fuck, my life was on that - my papers! _

I spend the following weeks trying to recover my fucking files and cursing Bruce Wayne and his stupid new Robin.

_____

It’s May. Finals are over - finally - and my first year of dual enrollment is over. So I want to celebrate by treating myself to frozen dinners and the like. Maybe this weekend I’ll go to the movies with Emma and Sarah too . . . there’s a really good movie about this woman getting revenge on the gangsters that kill her whole family that looks particularly interesting. So, I walk into a convenience store with a robbery in progress. And stupid me doesn’t even notice. No, instead I have my headphones on and collect all my items, while the robbers keep their gun pointed at the guy at the register and stare at me stupidly.

I don’t even  _ see  _ them really until I absentmindedly look up because  _ what the fuck is taking this guy so long? _

That’s when I notice the Hockey masks and feel like a complete idiot.

And I’m just sick and tired of this. Why do people always have to mess this city up?

I blink, they blink, and then a gun is staring  _ me  _ in the face - and yup, that’s a bullet in there. Fuck.

One second passes, and they do nothing, but  _ there’s still a gun pointed at my face  _ and so I shut my eyes and shiver - fuck I didn’t mean to do that - and then a loud bang - and crap. That was so fucking loud. Ouch ouch ouch.

But . . . I’m alive. And I look up at the two guys in the ski masks and - that’s a bullet hole in one of them, and the other guy’s staring at his friend confused and looking at me as if I just - fuck I just killed that guy didn’t I?

And you know what? Fuck this. Why should I feel bad about it?

I glare and make as if I’m going to jump the other guy and he just runs, leaving me, the cashier, and the dead guy - man that’s right between his eyes, it’s so creepy - alone.

I stare at the cashier, he stares at me, and then I walk over the dead guy and leave my stuff on the counter, while he mechanically starts to ring me up. I’m so fucking hungry now, damnit.

Thank God I have cash. 

I pay. I leave.

And that night, on the news, the headline reads about a robbery turned suicide - despite claims from the cashier about a new super. His CCTV wasn’t set up and nobody is really believing him about a tiny little girl that was shot  _ but didn’t die. _

_____

Between my job at the club, making sure to pay the bills on time I almost forget that Fall classes start on Monday. I’d worked until two in the morning last night, and so I wake up late, and rush out of bed. It’s already eight thirty, and I know if I stop for breakfast I will be late.

I briefly consider it anyway, because I know I’m not going to be able to eat anything until after my classes - and by then I’ll have to go back to work.

My desire to not leave a bad first impression wins out, though, and I quickly grab a slice of toast and rush out the door.

It’s the start of a terrible habit.

I’m getting way too hungry at school, and shivering just a bit. 

I think Mr. Falcone sees, and  _ wrongly _ assumes it’s because I’m scared to walk around Gotham late at night.

Instead of cutting my hours,  _ thank God _ \- he gives me a gun.

_____

I don’t usually stop by the coffee shop on my way to school, but when I do, I make sure to get the good stuff - cuban espresso with just enough foam and sugar. 

On that particular day in October, I’m running late, and I really shouldn’t be stopping for coffee, but with the amount of sleep I get, and most importantly all the papers I need to write, I need my caffeine fix. I’m basically running on fumes and hardly slept last night and I have so much homework, and so I rush into the coffee shop not even looking, which - you know, I guess I deserve this.

I run straight into someone who just narrowly saves his own coffee - he looks to be maybe fifteen years old?

There’s a peal of laughter, and I look up to the friend of the guy I basically attacked and there he is - Dick Grayson.

“Tim, you got to be more careful!” He’s still laughing, and I guess he hasn’t caught sight of my face just yet.

The other guy - Tim, I remind myself - just scowls at the original boy wonder before turning to face me and glares for a hot second.

“Sorry,” I mutter and try to side step, except  _ of course  _ I can’t be that lucky.

“Hey! I know you!”

I blink, and then you know what? - whatever, “I’d hope so, you barged into my house on Christmas.”

The other guy - Tim - looks interested before his eyes widen, almost comically and stares at me as if I’m an alien or something.

“Hey, you holding up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, good.” 

The other guy looks like he wants to leave and say something at the same time.

I don’t say anything - I don’t want to bring more attention to myself than necessary.

Dick Grayson is not one to deterred by my attitude though. Damn.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Annie! Take care! I’ll catch up with you later!” He says it with a bright smile and then he and the other guy -  _ Tim _ \- walk out.

I look around the coffee shop to see a bunch of eyes on me. And crap. I haven’t gotten my coffee yet and I’m still running late.

If I stay away from that coffee shop from then on, well . . .

______

In November, I almost snap at work and quit. I’ve graduated to hostess, rather than bartender and because of this I don’t have the buffer of the hostess or waitresses - because  _ I’m _ the hostess now.

So when the much too handsy customer tries to get just a little too touchy, I grab his hand and glare. 

And so maybe I add a few vibrations, and just a little too much force. And so maybe I break his fingers and hand. But he deserves it, trying to touch a minor like that.

Mr. Falcone’s not the happiest about it. I get called into his office and he’s frowning.

“I’m hearing some interesting things, Annie.”

I don’t say anything. I shouldn’t say anything. So I just raise my eyebrows.

“You apparently broke a customer’s hand?”

“He deserved it.”

It’s his turn for an eyebrow raise.

“Maybe. But, you can’t do that -”

I almost interrupt, but he beats me to it with his next words, “At least not as a hostess. I’m sure we can find you a more suitable position.”

I don’t really say anything for a while. A more suitable position? This is what I mean by snapping and quitting. I don’t really  _ want _ to be that deep in Falcone’s organization.

Perhaps if I hadn’t broken the guy’s hand. . .

But the fact of the matter is Falcone still has a bit of control over me because I’m six months away from turning eighteen, and until then, the threat of being taken to Metropolis by Luthor still stands, and Falcone’s my only shield.

So instead of quitting right then and there, as might have been the wisest option, I ask, “What do you have in mind?”

_____

The new year comes around and things in Gotham seem to be going a little better - at least for Mr. Falcone. He has me doing basic secretarial work now - mostly in the late afternoons and evenings.

I haven’t seen anything too illegal yet.

That doesn’t mean I don’t know what his real business is or that he’s doing anything legitimate. He’s just keeping me from the bad things, at least right now.

I think he wants me to keep close,  _ just in case _ .

I spend this time monitoring shipments, looking at receipts and manifests, and making sure everything is where it should be. If a shipment says it’s an order of stuffed animals, instead of the drugs I know it is . . . well that’s not my job, is it?

I try not to think about Jason’s face when I turn a blind eye to it. His family was probably destroyed by this . . . and here I am making sure that same system runs smoothly.

I’m a horrible human being . . .

_____

On my eighteenth birthday, I get an internship offer from both Lex Luthor and Mr. Falcone. I decline Luthor’s offer so fast, I don’t even really think about it. Mr. Falcone’s offer takes a bit more consideration. I know he wants me to follow in my parents footsteps  _ which may or may not be happening _ . Ever.

Mr. Falcone is the reason I was able to stay in Gotham, away from Luthor. However, I can’t forget Mr. Falcone is a mob boss.

I owe Falcone so much, and I hate owing people. But, he’s scum. I know he is.

I choose the easy option, for now. I stay exactly where I am with Mr. Falcone. And I cash in the last six checks from Luthor amounting to a comfortable twenty thousand dollars. He has no power over me anymore, and I’d be stupid if I didn’t capitalize on him stupidly sending me checks so close to my being eighteen. As luck would have it, they don’t even bounce. For a second there, I’d been afraid he’d set up a fake account under his name just to make my life difficult.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten 

That summer, Gotham goes to hell in a handbasket - like seriously, half the month of June I spend hiding in my apartment because to go outside is a death wish. It’s not just Gotham, though, it’s a couple of other cities, too that are dealing with the chaos. The Justice League’s on it, so I’m not too worried. Even if I stay locked in my apartment with the gun Falcone gave me pointed at the door, just in case.

Somehow, I live through it, and life goes on.

I don’t lose my job with Falcone, either, so that’s a plus.

In July, Mr. Falcone seems to make a move in the Underworld, and it’s stirring up all kinds of trouble. Evidence of this is seen in the streets, among the homeless, even though the upper echelons of society don’t see it. The only reason I notice, really, is because people begin coming to Falcone’s office asking for help and protection.

The more I see of it, the more regret seeps in. Why the fuck did I join the mob?

I’m still Falcone’s secretary, but he has some of his underlings deciding to take me to a gun range - and not the legal type of gun range either. It’s in these really creepy looking warehouses, and while I have nothing against guns themselves - Falcone gifted me with a beautiful glock that works fantastically and has very little recoil (though I might have something to do with that too, absorbing the vibration) - the guys he has ‘teaching’ me sometimes get a little too handsy.

And I sometimes get a little too nonchalant about the broken arms that happen for seemingly no reason - “You need more calcium” is my go-to response.

They may or may not be getting suspicious.

Falcone doesn’t spend too much time with the people that come to beg. He sees some of them, but if they’re repeat offenders ( _repeat beggars_ , I internally correct) he has his lieutenants deal with it.

Or me.

It’s when one of the old women - Mrs. Janet Smith - who is trying to appeal her eviction (Falcone has plans) starts crying because she only has the social security check, and _it’s not enough to support her_ , that I remember the condo we used to live in, back before I ever met Luthor at Falcone’s Christmas party.

Mom never sold it.

It’s just collecting dust, with Falcone filing paperwork every year for the taxes, and so when I come to him with the idea to charge the woman a minimal rent-- “She keeps coming back, this would be easier,”-- it seems like the perfect idea.

He doesn’t seem terribly opposed to it.

At the same time, he’s got this _look_ in his eye that I can’t place, and it makes me feel really uncomfortable. I can see why mom quit, it feels like he’s looking into my soul.

“I won’t help you with it.”

Damn.

“Fine.”

I do it because the poor woman’s a widow - like mom. I do it because I miss my mom and I don’t even have any grandparents left in this life. I do it to make myself feel better.

I go back out to the waiting foyer, where my desk is and give her a number.

“Call at six o’clock tonight. Someone will take it from there.”

I don’t tell her it’s my number. I don’t tell her I’m doing it out of guilt - guilt for mom and Jason and-

I wave the next visitor up as the woman leaves looking terrified and sad.

I get the call way past eight, just when I begin to give up on her ever answering.

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Janet Smith!” She’s yelling into the receiver. Why the fuck is she yelling into the receiver? I pull the phone away from my ear so I can better understand her without losing my hearing, and then . . .

“Hi, Mrs. Smith, this is Annie Simon, we spoke earlier. Can you meet me at an address?”

I give her the address and am there within thirty minutes, walking the dark streets of Gotham, only to wait for another forty minutes until she strolls up with - who the fuck is that?

I squint trying to make the other person out - and does this guy have a staff? There’s definitely a cape, but what the fuck?

“Ummm . . .”

“Ms. Simon?” comes the voice of the little old lady, and I can’t help the small smile that comes to my face, because she looks so damn happy to see me.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith. I found a place you can stay for a while.”

“Oh thank you! And thank _you_ , young man! This young man here saved me from some muggers just thirty minutes ago.”

“Hi, I’m Robin.”

I ignore him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine. It’ll take more than some upstarts to take _me_ down.”

I don’t doubt it. “Well, these are your keys, the rent’s taken care of for the first two months, and we can negotiate from there. Sorry it’s so late, but I was expecting your call earlier.”

“Oh, I know dear, but I had to get money for the payphone. Thank you so much for doing this! You’re a good kid.”

I don’t even know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I hand her the keys and she enters the apartment I lived in with mom for so long.

_And Robin just hangs back awkwardly with me in the doorway while Mrs. Smith explores her new apartment._

“So . . . you work for Falcone?”

I ignore him again, as Mrs. Smith calls out. “This place is too big for one person, dear, are you sure you got the right apartment?”

“Yup. Look, I have to go, are you going to be alright tonight? I can check in early tomorrow morning. . .”

“Oh, I’ll be fine!” She comes back in sight, and smiles widely. “Young man, why don’t you make sure she gets home safely?”

Yeah . . . she’ll be fine, she’s already trying to matchmake - which, no offense, but ew.

“Um . . .”

I’m already headed out the hallway when he stumbles over his words, trying to follow me. He does a pretty good job, I’ll give him that, and it’s not until I’m a block away from my apartment that I abruptly turn around and glare at this . . . this other child soldier of Batman’s.

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you. . . we just happen to be going in the same direction.”

“Bullshit.”

“Huh. He was right, you have terrible language. I couldn’t tell what with how polite you were being to the old lady.”

“Cut the crap, what do you want?”

“I really didn't mean to meet up with you. It was a coincidence.”

“I’ll reiterate. Bullshit.”

Oh, I think I made him angry.

“It’s true. We’ve got better things to do than try to come up with ways of talking to a stuck up mobster's lackey. You’re not even that high ranking.”

“And isn’t that a relief.”

I really don’t like his tone.

“How can you-”

He stops, as if regretting it and no. No fucking way am I letting him off easy.

“No go ahead. Say what’s on your mind, boy wonder. Let me know just what you think of me.”

“How can you work for them when they’re just destroying this city?”

“Easy. I have to eat. So does that old lady. And I don’t have that many options.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Bullshit. Other ways include prostitution, which - no thank you. I don’t even wear used _shoes_. Or maybe you’re talking about waitressing? I had to start working at sixteen, and I did that, and got harrassed by the customers which is what technically got me this job. It’s also technically illegal to work more than a certain amount of hours, and late into the night and my only other fucking option was moving to Metropolis with my father’s killer. So don’t fucking tell me about options. Not everyone has a nice trust fund to fall back on.”

There that shut him up, but now I feel terrible, because he almost looks like a kicked puppy, and he did escort the old lady through some really terrible neighborhoods. . .

“Just - Just leave me alone. All of you. Please. Thanks for taking care of the old lady.”

I walk away before I can really go off on him some more, but I turn around just before I’m too far. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten you wiped my computer! It took me forever to rewrite those papers for school, and you’re on my shitlist!”

_____

Mr. Falcone, I decide as I watch him order a hit, is one of the worst people alive. I’m in the other room, but the door’s still wide open. Some poor sap thought it would be better to steal from Mr. Falcone than suffer the wrath of Black Mask - whoever the fuck that is. He’s some other mob boss (I can’t help thinking he probably wasn’t ever as successful as Mr. Falcone, seeing as I’ve never heard of him . . . then again . . . I never paid much attention to the comics, so he may or may not be a big deal . . .)

But Mr. Falcone values money and loyalty over everything else.

I try not to make eye contact with Falcone’s hitman as he walks by and try to focus on breathing so I don’t destroy anything in the office.

That afternoon, I stop by my old apartment to check on Mrs. Smith who keeps longer than I intended by offering tea and cookies.

And I’m definitely not one to say no to food.

She asks about my day, school, my major - political science with minors in Computer Science and Business - and then she looks at me, with this confused look in her eyes.

“What are you doing working for Mr. Falcone? You’re such a good girl, with such a bright future!”

“It’s . . . complicated.” Staring at the cup of tea seems as good an idea as any, as long as I don’t have to look up and see what I’m sure is a disapproving expression. “I guess you could say he was my only option for a while, and then it just became . . . easy to just stay put. I never wanted to stand out too much.”

“Oh, sweetie, I think that would be quite impossible to achieve.”

“What - stay put?”

“No! You’re a pretty girl, and no matter where you go, people will look at you.” She laughs and continues to enjoy her tea.

“Well, I mean the more I go through life, the more I see that.”

“Stop scowling like that - you’ll get wrinkles.”

I sigh, because that’s such a . . . such an old lady thing to say. And it makes me think of mom. Mom should be here to tell me those things and she’s not.

I decide to continue to visit her on Sundays even as classes begin in late August. I don’t live on campus (thank God), but I live just close enough that I can sleep in a bit. It’s a bit surreal.

Greek Life is everywhere and I stay far away from it because while I love my sisters from before, I don’t think I can really dedicate the time and effort that I had into the sorority - I had already been not the most dedicated of sisters, after all.

Besides, now that I’m eighteen, and halfway through college, with a nice little buffer for bills (those checks were fantastic and completely pay for school for the next two years and then some) I have a little breathing room.

_____

I’ve stayed in Gotham to have access to the files on my mother’s death, and considering no progress has been made in her murder case, I think I’m justified in snooping.

Because of this, my time is spent, overwhelmingly, at the library, reading up on old newspaper articles and using the computers there to try and poke holes in LexCorps main frame. Which is where I stumble on Emma and Sarah.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“SHHHHHH!”

I wince. I think the librarian is being louder than I was with her shushing, but I feel bad.

I nod to her then look at Emma and Sarah, raising my eyebrows expectantly until they wave me over - they’re pouring over their laptop - and that’s a facebook event for a big party at one of the sorority houses. I try not to roll my eyes.

“You going?”

Thank God they whisper.

I try not to look too skeptical.

“It’ll be fun! Maybe you’ll _meet_ someone. I mean, you don’t have a boyfriend we don’t know about, do you?”

Well, no, but why the fuck is that anyone’s business?

_____

Dick Grayson is in my Statistics class, and while at first, I had freaked out a bit, he had taken one look at my glare and stayed away. And it was great, for all of ten minutes. The first class was fine - an overview of the syllabus.

And then we got to basic concepts.

“Who can explain correlation? Anyone?”

No one, apparently.

“Alright then,  for instance I have this chart here about how when Batman is injured from a mission with the Justice League or other high profile mission, Bruce Wayne also tends to go on long isolated vacations with his sons.

Dick Grayson starts to laugh nervously. “That’s ridiculous, Bruce Wayne’s not Batman!”

I feel a little bad for him.

“I know, but it is suspicious, isn’t it, and you’re his son, you’re _supposed_ to say that.” The professor looks so fucking convinced. “What other explanation could there be?”

The answer’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“It tells me Bruce Wayne has mad preservation skills. Who’d want to chance a Gotham with the Batman out of commission? That or he’s a coward. He makes it well known how much he dislikes Batman, and he’s way too busy with his partying and making poor life decisions to go beating up criminals. And I mean his parents were killed by a criminal. He’s probably traumatised and sees the Batman as a protector. He probably gets scared when Batman’s nowhere to be found. Correlation does not equal causation, it’s just an indicator of _something_. For instance, an increase in ice cream sales in the summer at the beach at the same time as shark attacks increase is not an example of causation.”

I swear I can feel Dick Grayson staring at me, and the professor definitely looks put out.

I mean, he’s technically hit the nail on the head, but I put some doubts that theory of his, and I bet he’s not about to publish it in the Gotham Gazette anytime soon.

Though with the pictures being taken on phones and the snickers from my classmates, I can’t help but think I just made Bruce Wayne look like a coward on social media . . .

I spend the rest of the class trying to shut up and keep my head down.

_____

Dick Grayson somehow finds me in the library just before closing one night in October.

“Hey, Annie, how you been?”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“Huh? Just trying to be chalant and -”

“Chalant’s not a word.”

“It’s the opposite of nonchalant,” he explains. “Anyway -”

“Nonchalant comes from the old French ‘nonchaloir’ with ‘chaloir’ evolving to chaleur meaning heated. If you’re going with that logic, you’re trying to be heated? Upset? Nonchalant itself means not concerned, you’re trying to be concerned, then say so. Use words that actually exist in the English language, please.”

He scowls. “I just thought it would be a good idea to study with-”

“The library is literally closing in ten minutes. What are you planning on cramming in ten minutes that couldn’t be done at home or your dorm, apartment, wherever the fuck you live?”

He looks so frustrated now. “Can you stop interrupting me?”

“I don’t know, _Dick_. Can you stop bullshitting me?”

He takes a deep breath, obviously holding back his ire and says, “You’re really frustrating, ya know? You’re almost worse than Jason was, I think.”

“Your point, today, please?”

“Can you just listen to me for five minutes.”

“I’ve given you a minute already. Talk. Or I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t talk for a solid ten seconds.

“I just - you said those things back in Statistics and -”

“Just because I don’t like the guy and think he’s way too self righteous doesn’t mean I want others to know who he is. You may get on my nerves, but . . . you’re his family and . . . I hate it when family is used to manipulate others. It’s . . . It’s nothing personal. I still dislike him.”

“How can you say that?”

“Very easily.”

“That’s - you need to be careful. That’s what I came to say. People like you -”

“Apathetic?”

“No - people that can do - wait, you consider yourself apathetic?”

I snort. Not at all. I get angry like anyone else.

“No, but I guess some people might see it that way.” Like Sarah and Emma. I guess resigned would be a better word to describe me. I look away from him and try not to get lost in thought before I look back. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He follows me to the exit of the library, the librarian glaring as she escorts us out, and continues to follow.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you, we just happen to be going in the same direction.”

I call bullshit, he’s just like the other boy wonder. But I let it go because I don’t feel like fighting all that much tonight.

And we walk without talking at all for a solid ten minutes, before Dick breaks the silence.

“You were hacking Wayne Enterprises a while ago . . .”

“It was practice.”

“For?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Well, I mean, we have considerable resources. I can see if I can find the information you’re looking for . . .”

“No thanks, I don’t need you knowing my business.”

He looks way too fucking amused.

“You were hacking into _our_ business, isn’t it the other way around?”

“Like I said, it was practice, and I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know.”

He’s quiet again - thank God - for another few minutes, just the sound of our shoes on the pavement and our breaths taking in the cold air.

And then he has to break the silence _again_.

“You ever think about him - Jason, I mean.”

I guess my face says it all, because he quickly lifts up his hands in surrender. “I mean, when we’re not around to remind you . . .”

I think about it for a moment. “We weren’t . . . we weren’t exactly _friends._ But . . . I knew him and he was one of the only things that . . . before my coma when I was nine, I apparently had a crush on him. I don’t really remember it at all, but my mom told me why I liked him. He defended me from some bullies who were being assholes because my mom was some big shot lawyer, and my dad ran one of the busiest chop shops in town and . . . I guess hearing it from someone else, and knowing . . . he was a good person, underneath his prickly exterior.”

“And now?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“You haven’t dated . . .”

I’m offended. “That’s because half the people in Gotham are crazies and the other half are . . .” I struggle to find the right words.

“Or maybe you don’t want anyone to get close.”

“That’s -”

“You know I’m at least a little right.”

“Is that all you came to say?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like -”

“Yeah well fuck you. You don’t know anything about me. I have too many things going on in my life to worry about a boyfriend.”

“Well, maybe just start small then . . .”

“What - a one night stand? With who - _you_?”

I try not to laugh at his expression - “No-no-no, that’s - you - I meant go out with your friends and actually - why would you . . . ?”

I roll my eyes - and would you look at that? “This is my stop. See you later, wonder boy.”

If he continues to sputter at my doorstep, well . . . that’s his problem.

_____

Of course the one morning I actually bother to wake up early and have time to settle down with my coffee and the Gotham Gazette is the day there’s the most ridiculous second page headline about _Metropolis_ that manages to keep my attention - and nearly make me late for class.

See, a few years ago there was a short segment on all the news channels and radio stations about the street orphans of Metropolis disappearing with resulting Amber Alerts - they were never resolved. The abductions stopped after two weeks at most, and the panic in Metropolis continued for another month before they realized they had stopped, and then they stopped caring, because they were orphans, who would miss them? It’s been a year and none of the children have ever been found.

Until today, apparently.

The girl's name is Caitlin Jeffers, and she was allegedly found in a warehouse after a nosy old lady living in the apartment complex across the street called the police for 'suspicious activity'. The story continues - she has no memory of anything that happened prior to being found and has been graciously adopted by Lex Luthor.

I scoff. While the news of an Amber Alert not having a tragic or non-existent ending is big enough, I have a hard time believing that Lex Luthor adopted her out of the goodness of his heart.

There are two pictures in the paper - before and after - with the first being probably not the best quality but features her and another, smaller girl who’s half cut out, both covered in grime, while the other has a dolled up girl standing next to Lex Luthor. And by dolled up, I mean makeup and jewelry and hair that seems a little too immaculately styled. Her face is epitome of boredom and disinterest, with maybe a hint of affluence, I suppose she must feel as a token trophy child.

But there's something else, something I can't put a finger on, that seems familiar. Like I should have some kinship with her.

And in a way, I do. But I also don't, because I had mom, and she has Lex Luthor. And Lex Luthor is the source of all my misery in this life. I shudder to think of what would have happened had mom also been in the car accident with Mr. Simon. With nobody to stop the hospital from pulling the plug, I would have died in a week. So I guess I'm glad to be alive, but still . . .

Luthor has to be up to something. Why did he adopt a girl off the streets? Is this a way of getting to me? Putting aside my revenge plans, I'm worried that he's not going to let me continue as I have. He'll never stop trying to gain control of me.

Which all means I really only have one option. Not like it's new, since I decided this long ago.

Lex Luthor’s going to die.

And maybe I'll make him suffer a little bit first. Caitlin Jeffers seems like a good place to start.

_____

Christmas _used_ to be my favorite time of year, that is until Mr. Falcone ruined it with that one Christmas Party and New Years Event where I met Luthor. But since I work for the man, there’s not much I can do to get out of the event.

So I go.

Sofia Falcone attaches herself to me quickly tonight and pulls me from group to group, introducing me as the ‘wonderful little secretary of dad’s.’

I’m not insulted.

It’s a beautiful place, though, and I have to hand it to the mobsters - they sure know how to throw a party. There’s holly everywhere, the smell of cinnamon in the air (there has to be a scent machine, somewhere), and a bunch of mistletoe at practically every doorway.

It takes everything in me to avoid it, and I seem to be doing a good job.

Dinner is good Italian fare, and the conversation is light - probably because Mrs. Falcone is present. It’s not even until after dinner that Falcone begins to receive guests in his office.

He spends three hours there - and because I’m his secretary, I have to stick around to pencil in any appointments that may be made behind closed doors.

And then it’s finally over, and I’m ready to leave when Mr. Falcone stops me.

“Annie, come here, I’d like a word with you.”

Fuck.

“I have a new assignment for you. That Black Mask is getting a little too bold, and I need someone to infiltrate his organization.”

I immediately know it’s a bad idea, and ask, “Why?”

“Because I need a mole.”

“And you think I’m the best candidate?”

“You’ve proven you can keep your mouth shut, and you’re smart. I’m sure you could figure it out.”

This such a bad idea. On so many levels.

“How am I even supposed to find them?”

“They’ll most likely approach you, what with their active recruiting of my people. And that’s what I’m counting on. And there are ways. I need to know Black Mask’s angles. And you’re a good listener. I see you eavesdropping outside my door, but only because you don’t even really _try_ to hide it.”

“And why would this be a good idea? Why should I do it?”

“Well, I mean the pay is nothing to scoff at. Don’t get me wrong, it won’t be a walk in the park, and it’ll take up probably a lot of your time, but I think you’re up to it. It’s why I’ve had you learning how to use a gun and -”

“Please, stop right there. This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer me.

I know what will happen if I say no - I’ll have disappointed him, and people don’t just disappoint Falcone and walk away unscathed.

So I nod, but inside I’m thinking about how I’m going to be a spy, and briefly wonder - how hard would it be to be a double agent.

Either way, my Christmas is ruined.

_____

Emma and Sarah insist on my going out tonight, on boxing day, and with how stressed I am from this new assignment - it was a terrible idea to join the mob - I go.

I meet them at this club - which, what the fuck? We’re twenty.

I shouldn’t doubt them though, because _somehow_ they found my old fake ID from Falcone and have some of their own.

I almost immediately regret being here, as Emma and Sarah both get progressively drunk, and completely ignore me when I try to get the bartender to stop - only he’s flirting, and probably thinks he’ll get lucky.

I think I’m scowling.

I’m going to get wrinkles - _and oh my God, I spend way too much time with Mrs. Smith._

It’s at one in the morning when I grab Emma’s arm and pull her away from this one guy - watch the hands, buster - “Where’s Sarah? It’s late and we should get back.”

Emma looks childlike when she’s drunk. “Sarah?” Her eyes are wide and she she’s looking at me blankly before she smiles widely and grabs my arm. “I’m so glad you’re heeere, Annie! We’ve missssed you!”

“Yeah, I am too, but we need to get to sleep now.”

“Sleep? Yeah.” She’s pliant and easily letting me pull her, and that’s what gives me the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Emma, when did you see Sarah?”

“Hmm? She went out back.”

I might be panicking a little as I drag her behind me to find - Robin’s beating up a  guy in the alley while Sarah looks on - obviously too drunk out of her mind.

What was I even _thinking_ , letting Emma and Sarah out of my sight.

Emma’s pouting behind me. “You were supposed to drink too, Annie.”

Robin stops with the punches - yeah the other guy’s not getting up anytime soon - and turns to stare at us and -

“Yeah, that was your plan, not mine. One of us had to stay sober.”

Robin looks unimpressed.

My words also seem to stir Sarah, because she turns her gaze to us and she holds her arms out for what I can only assume is a hug.

“Home?” I ask, still eyeing the guy.

She nods, and turns to look at him. “Are you coming with us, Robin?”

He looks stunned, and then schools his expression.

“Come on, up you go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice evening.” I haul Sarah up, and put her arm over my shoulder when he grabs my wrist.

“You’re one person, and despite how strong you think you are, you’re small and can’t carry two people. I’ll help.”

And he’s not wrong.

It’s silent, the walk to the dorms, except for the occasional nonsensical mutterings of the two resident drunks, and by the time we arrive at their dorm room - they share a room, but the building is co-ed - they’re half asleep.

I sneak glances at him from the corner of my eye as we both settle the girls into their beds, and - he’s glancing at me too, especially as I get up to leave.

“You’re not in this room.”

It’s not a question.

“Nope. I live off campus.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“No offense, and thanks for the help earlier, but I can take care of myself.”

He sighs and says, “It’ll make me feel better.”

I roll my eyes, but don’t say anything as he falls into step beside me.

“This isn’t exactly what big bird had in mind when he told you to go out more . . .”

_Big Bird?_

I can’t help bursting out laughing, trying to keep my eyes from tearing up, because all I can imagine is the yellow bird from Sesame Street, and - and - and that’s Dick Grayson’s nickname? Comedy gold.

Robin looks stunned by my laughter, though, so I try to pull myself together.

“Big bird?”

He looks embarrassed now. “I mean, it’s just a nickname we have amongst ourselves.”

I’m too fucking amused to care. “You know I’ll never let it go, right? And I’ll tell him _you_ told me.”

He looks resigned and mutters something about needing coffee - huh, smart kid. Coffee is life.

He walks me home, and then disappears just as quickly as he’d arrived.

I try not to feel too upset.

I still haven’t forgiven him for wiping my laptop, though.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The week following Christmas is ridiculously busy, even discounting my night out with Emma and Sarah. Because despite how stressed out I am about having to _infiltrate a gang_ , Mr. Falcone doesn’t just let me figure it out on my own. He helps me out - or _tries_ to. And he gives me a couple of rules and tells them to me as follows:

Rule number one: don’t only allow them to approach _you_. Get to the people around the henchmen, if you have to.

Rule number two: nothing is sacred. Use their sisters, mothers, find one of the goons and get into his pants if you have to.

Rule number three: don’t forget who you work for and why.

Rule number four: never break rule number three.

I say fuck the rules.

And not just because I don’t particularly have a personal stake in the mission, but because _I’m not going to whore myself out to help Falcone in his business ventures_. Besides, I have super powers.

I consider asking his lieutenants why _they_ can’t do this, but stop because they’re definitely not the friendly type and they definitely won’t take my question well.

I spend the rest of the holiday being read-in on Falcone’s Black Mask intel, which is why, when classes begin halfway through January, I’m about ready to take the glock Falcone gave me and just go shooting my way through both crime empires.

Because the intel’s not just on Black Mask, it’s on Falcone, and it’s so grotesque - the things he does, and I mean I _knew_ . I _knew_ they were the mob.

Falcone himself has ordered the deaths of so many men, and kicked so many women out on the streets. And Black Mask is ten times more cruel. If he puts a hit out on a guy, it’s his whole family. And they’re both so despicable.

Sometimes, I forget that. Which makes it so hard now, being briefed on this, to keep a cool head about it and not murder them all.

Mom’s name gets thrown in sometimes, about how she defended Falcone in this case, or that case, and how all the other lawyers were ready to give up as it was a lost cause. That case was a slam dunk for the prosecutor. But mom never gave up on it. And she won. They say how proud she’d be about what I’m doing.

Except I know they’re wrong, and they really didn’t know mom all that well, if they think that. She was spunky. She cared more about me than she ever did about her job.

And I don’t think she’d be proud of me. At all. She wanted better for me. If she were still around, I probably wouldn’t have to do this regardless. But it’s my fault she’s dead.

I spend my days reading up on the who’s who in the mob business and where they tend to hang out - the Iceberg Lounge, whatever the fuck that is - _it sounds familiar_ , is particularly popular.

It’s Sofia Falcone that gives the best advice, though. It’s unsolicited and she gives completely randomly - while I’m analyzing a reading on current politics and trying to explain in my paper for economics why Markovia’s current economic slump is a result of ethically irresponsible investors like Luthor more than it’s the result of internal politics. I might be a little biased in my paper.

Either way, I’m completely engrossed in it when Sofia stops by with a sheet of paper and a stack of books.

“Not that I’m complaining, because I love books, don’t get me wrong. But . . . what is this for?”

“It’s your way in.” She says it with a smile and a flip of her hair. “You don’t always need to resort to getting into their pants, like dad seems to think. Sometimes, it’s the more innocent approaches that are the best - because they won’t be looking for it. Don’t let them know you work for Falcone - that would be suicide. Instead, become friends with this guy -” she pulls out a picture of a guy that looks like the typical bookish nerd - “and slowly, get into the business. Tell him you need a job. And then - only then - let him come up with the idea of speaking to his employer for you. And don’t jump at the chance. Say no, the first time.”

It’s not a bad idea. And this guy doesn’t look too threatening, at least from what I see in the picture.

Not that looking harmless means _anything_ in this world.

“And how exactly do I become his . . . _friend_?”

Sofia smiles, “Glad you asked. His name’s Eric Donahue. He’s moderately high in the chain of command for Black Mask, and is a closet book lover that spends most afternoons in the Gotham Public Library. These are a list of the books he’s checked out in the past month.”

There’s twenty titles. Mostly fiction.

Well fuck. And I thought _I_ loved to read.

“So my job is to go to the Gotham Public Library? And read these books?”

“It’s a start.”

And she’s not wrong. . .

She walks away leaving me to think about it and come up with my own plan of action. Because some of these titles - I wouldn’t be caught _dead_ reading this in public.

_____

I don’t start right away. And I don’t do it, I think, the way Sofia expects me to.

Instead, I get an unpaid internship at the Gotham Public Library beginning about a month after Christmas - it’s harder than you think trying to get someone to let you work for free, but I do it. I spend most of my shifts sitting there at the front desk doing homework, and only occasionally reading one of those books on Sofia’s list - the safe ones focused more on the story than any . . . bedroom shenanigans. Sometimes I’m tasked with putting books back on the shelves.

I _do_ meet him - Eric Donahue - when he’s checking his books out.

It’s so awkward, and he doesn’t seem to like meeting my eyes, especially when I’m scanning the books.

“Just these books for you today?”

A blank stare, even as I smile - like, really, seeing me smile so much is a privilege, and here he is just . . . ugh.

I continue to smile obnoxiously.

“Alright, Mr. Donahue, these are due in two weeks. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Rude. He just turns and leaves.

But I’m not about to give up. This guy is going to be my _in_.

Every time he enters the library, and every time he leaves, I make sure to smile, or nod my head at him. When he goes to get something - usually a granola bar from quaker oats - at the vending machine I smile and tilt my head. He starts to warm up to me a bit, giving me half smiles and not saying much, but I’ve worked in customer service before. I will not be discouraged.

It’s all very routine and boring, with me even grabbing my own granola bars most days (and billing Falcone, it’s an on-the-job expense). I’m there, in the background, establishing myself in his life - even if as only a background fixture.

After about two months, in April, on a day I’m _not_ reading one of the books on his list - it’s not even the same genre, it’s a historical analysis of the Cold War - with _superheros_ , it happens. And I’m so engrossed in my book, I barely notice a shadow over my head, until a voice - his voice - breaks through.

“Oh! Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Your book . . . what’s it about?”

I half smile, and answer, “You probably wouldn’t like it. It’s pretty boring.”

His eyebrows rise. “You seemed pretty interested.”

“Well, I mean, it’s history, and I like history a bit. It’s for school, about the cold war and heros and . . .”

So I start rambling a bit about the book, sue me.

He chuckles, and hands me his book for me to checkout. “You go to school?”

I’m proud of myself for my ability to keep the pleasant smile on my face, even as he awkwardly leans on the counter, and seems to stumble over his words. I want to cringe, because he’s trying pretty hard.

“Yeah, I’m almost done with college and I want to go into business, but at the same time I like organizing things, and think I’d just be happy keeping documents organized after I graduate.”

I sigh then looking to the desk and giving another half smile.

“Do you not like working here?”

I shake my head. “Don’t get me wrong! I love working here. But I’m working here for free, and . . .” I shrug. “Money is a thing necessary for life, so . . .”

He nods in sympathy.

He looks like he’s about to say something, but closes his mouth, and gives me another awkward nod.

It’s after he leaves that I turn back to my book and smile - progress.

_____

It’s the middle of June - school’s out, thank God - when it happens. It’s raining like nobody’s business and they come dripping into the library without any consideration for other visitors. I expected more from Eric Donahue. But he’s flanked by a bunch of other really large guys, and I really don’t want to get on their bad side, so I silently grab the Caution Floor Wet sign, put it there by the door, and give the floor a cursory mop before sitting back down at my desk.

They stand by a bookshelf and talk, throwing me glances the whole time.

I overhear some of their conversation - something about how the latest shipment is being intercepted by the bat. They need to be more careful. Black Mask is getting more and more upset about the loyalty of his men, or lack thereof. Ms. Li, whoever the fuck that is, keeps saying she needs an underling. All things they really shouldn’t be talking about out in the open.

I glance at the clock - which reads four o’clock and my stomach growls because crap I’m hungry. I should probably take a break and get something to eat. Except, I don’t want to let them out of my sight . . . I give it another ten minutes before I stand up to get a granola bar from the vending machine and feel their eyes following me. It’s only a little creepy.

I try my best to keep my head down and working on my homework - typing away at my laptop about Rhelasian tensions, read _Korea_ , and subsequent peace talks that never seem to go anywhere. I try really hard to focus, I really do. But I’m on a mission to infiltrate a mob organization.

And so I guess I do too good a job of faking indifference, because it honestly comes as a surprise when one of them snatches my laptop right from under my fingertips, and I gasp turning to them wide eyed.

“What are you typing? You spying on us?”

Well . . . yes, but . . . thank God I’m not stupid enough to tell them.

“I was doing my homework.”

The big guy - _the one with my computer -_ eyes me suspiciously for a moment before he looks at my computer screen, all three guys leaning in close and clicking away.

I’m not panicking at all. There’s no important information on my laptop. _Lies, lies, lies. Mom’s emails are there. My scans of the newspaper articles I dig through in my spare time is there. My attempts to hack into Wayne Enterprises - again - are there._

A glare . . . so maybe I’m freaking out a bit. He lays my laptop back down and I take it, hugging it to my chest.

“Eric here said you need money.”

And wait, what? That . . . was much easier than I thought it would be.

“Don’t we all?”

All three smile and _it’s so creepy_.

“How would you like to work for our boss?”

Definitely easier than I thought . . . it’s only June, after all.

“I . . . I’ll have to think about it.”

“Let us know,” and he throws down a business card not even bothering to lay it down nicely on my desk.

I have to fight to not roll my eyes at how rude he’s being. Only the fact that my heart’s still racing from _my laptop, oh thank God you’re okay_ , keeps me grounded and able to nod and look appropriately scared.

Except this is exactly what I wanted. I _wanted_ them to offer me a job, but looking scared is just another way to get them to lower their guard even more.

_____

It’s a long day, and I feel exhausted by the time I get home and unlock the door, that I just drop my purse and turn on the light in the front room.

My shoulders ache. My eyes are tired. And -

My phone is ringing somewhere in my huge purse.

Even as I dig through my purse, I’m cursing under my breath, sitting on the floor, and fumbling to get my phone to answer - it’s a number I don’t recognize, which really isn’t all that surprising, I don’t have _that_ many contacts. I might stare at my phone a bit dumbly for a moment trying to decide if I want to answer or not.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Annie! It’s me, Sofia!”

“Oh, hi.”

This is awkward.

“I was wondering if you were busy tonight.”

The answer’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Well, I mean yes, but -”

“Awesome. I’m heading to the Iceberg Lounge, if you’d like to join me.”

“Why the fuck would you want to go to the Iceberg Lounge?”

And fuck. I actually said that. To Sofia . . .

“Well, I mean - if you have a better idea, please let me know.”

She sounds insulted. . . damn. That means I need to fix this.

“It’s just - that’s where Eric hangs out, and it would be . . .”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that going?”

“It’s . . . going. . . they offered me a job.”

“Wow. You work fast. How’d you swing that in so little time?”

“I don’t know . . .” I know, I'm just not about to tell her.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Well, I’m going to get some food, then. Will you join me? You can pick.”

She’s never asked me to eat with her before, so I’m pretty sure she’s got ulterior motives. But - my stomach growls - I’m hungry. . . and if it’s my pick . . .

I give her the name of a restaurant a good mile from my house and tell her I can be there in twenty minutes.

As I lock my apartment door - again - that night, I pull out the business card from Eric’s . . . friend. Maybe I’ve given it enough time - a few hours enough.

It’s only six o’clock now anyway.

But . . . I tuck it away in my purse again and head to the restaurant - toward _food_.

And if I have a quaker oats bar in my hand just in case? - well this is Gotham after all.

I make it to the quaint little diner I told Sofia about with time to spare and sit down with a cup of tea and pie trying to finish my paper on Rhelasia (that was so rudely interrupted earlier today . . . I’m not bitter - not at all).

Sofia is dressed up with a wig when I see her.

“Ugh, this thing is so itchy,” she complains, and I have to smother a laugh.

It wouldn’t do to laugh at her, I get the feeling she wouldn’t take that very well.

“So, you got the offer?” She asks even as she fidgets, trying to find a comfortable position and smiling widely at the waitress, mouthing her order with a big smile.

“Yeah, it didn’t take as long as I thought it would . . .”

She smiles slyly at me. “What did you do?”

Right. Because she doesn’t know I got an unpaid internship.

“I gave myself a better excuse to be at the library.”

“Oh?” She looks amused, but for some reason, I don’t think my progress with my assignment is what she wants to talk about.

“Why did you want to meet?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, well daddy dearest decided I will be your contact for this assignment. And anyways, we’re going to have to figure out a way for you and I to meet without drawing suspicion.”

“And you thought a wig would do the trick.”

She scowls at me - and it looks terrifying to see on her face.

“It was short notice.”

“Okay. We could always just call or text.”

She dismisses my suggestion with a wave of her hand.

“They could hack your phone.”

And this time, I scoff and don’t even try to hide it.

“They could follow you much easier. Would you prefer dead drops?”

Her eyebrows twitch, as if to indicate - yes. Yes she’d love to play spy with the dead drops and high tech gadgets like those old James Bond movies. I struggle not to roll my eyes in exasperation.

“You can leave a report with Mrs. Smith.”

“Mrs. Janet Smith? That’s not how dead drops work. And no offense, but I’d rather keep Ms. Smith out of this.”

Sofia looks beyond annoyed. “Well, do you have a better idea?”

I think about it for a moment, before answering with something I don’t think will work anyway. “I could send it out with my daily mail - I still pay most of my bills the old fashioned way.”

Mom had done it, and I just rolled with how she did it.

And right as Sofia is about to respond - yay or nay - the waitress is back with Sofia’s order and a refill on the tea and pie for me, causing the two of us to lapse into silence for the following ten minutes.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sofia finally says, as she pushes her now-empty plate towards the center left of the table.

“Or I could leave a report under a rock by the center bench in Robinson Park - the one by the swing set. It could have instructions about where the next one would be.”

She looks more interested at this and smiles.

“We’ll start with that. And if there are any problems, we can always come up with some other way to exchange information.”

She smiles again, but then frowns.

“I also wanted to warn you a little. There’s some weird chatter about this guy the Red Hood - or whatever - getting in on Black Mask’s territory - it’s practically minuscule, really, and I’m only hearing the smallest of rumors, very recent. But, I thought you might like to know.”

“Who’s the Red Hood?”

“Isn’t that the question of the century. The Red Hood has been around for a long time - I think he became the Joker . . .”

“This guy’s the Joker?”

If there’s a little panic in my voice - who can _blame_ me? I’ve successfully avoided the crazy villains in Gotham.

“No, no, no, don’t worry. This guy’s very much not the Joker - the Joker’s still in Arkham. This guy is just using his old name.”

So he’s a psychopath.

I say as much to Sofia, who just laughs.

“You’re probably not wrong. Anyway, be careful.” And she grabs her purse, heads to the waitress and hands her some cash and leaves.

I stick around for a while - because food - but eventually get up to leave, absentmindedly sneaking a glance at my phone and remembering the business card from earlier.

“Hello?”

I hold my breath for a moment as I debate my answer.

“Hello?” The voice is definitely more annoyed the second time, and I rush to respond.

“Hi, this is Annie, from the library, I’m from the library.” Stupid, stupid, stupid . . . “Is - is that job offer still on the table?”

_____

My first day “on-the-job” for Black Mask so to speak, I meet Ms. Li. She’s . . . nice, I suppose, but she’s way too devoted to making sure everything runs well for Black Mask. She doesn’t even flinch when he orders people dead.

And Black Mask is so terrifying. Like. . . I can’t even tell if that’s really his face or . . . or what.

“So, this is the new recruit.”

I’m not his fucking recruit. They didn’t recruit me to anything.

“Yes, sir.”

Sir? How does he even want to be addressed?

“Well, make sure she understands what happens here _stays_ here.”

Not fucking likely. That’s literally the whole reason I’m here.

I keep my face schooled, though.

Ms. Li nods, and with the most stoic expression on her face I’ve ever seen, continues to check things off on her clipboard while I stand there awkwardly at her side and follow her around.

The second day is similar, only I get my own notebook and basically become Ms. Li’s assistant.

And in the days that follow, I fall into a routine. Mostly I see people walking in and out - or dying, because that’s just how Black Mask _is_. And I still see Eric Donahue often. I think he has the impression we should be together. It makes things kind of awkward, at least for me.

I also find out that Eric has the title of “lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I’m a lieutenant. Very important. Anyway, there’s this really interesting book I think you’d be interested in!”

I take the book and try to play it cool.

“Thanks! I’ll try to read it when I have time.”

Which I don’t. I don’t have time - ever, not with basically two jobs and school and - I have no time for this.

He leaves, but he constantly stops by my desk for small talk and to bring up the books.

I curse Sofia Falcone for having ever given me the idea that he’d be my in.

It’s very redundant work and I’m basically Ms. Li’s underling, but it keeps me busy and I no longer have time to meet up with Emma and Sarah. I’m Black Mask’s secretary’s secretary - or lackey, or whatever you want to call it.

I have access to the information I need, which is what I need for work.

My reports are not very detailed at first consisting mostly of who’s who. It takes a couple weeks before I start to notice any patterns in their behavior.

By August, my reports begin to take on more substance, with notes on what shipments come in where and with what. But, school is really making it hard to keep up with a weekly schedule of reports for Sofia and Mr. Falcone.

I’m so stressed out by the time classes are about to start, what with trying to make my reports for Sofia and leaving them at the dead drops, on top of making sure all the paperwork for my last year of school is in place, my job for Black Mask, and my lack of me and friends time, that I don’t notice him following me that night as I leave my apartment building - and I don’t hold my manilla envelope under my jacket. I’m so stupid about it, but I’ve become so complacent. And I make so many mistakes that night.

And what the fuck was I thinking? I hadn’t even stopped to eat my granola bar or have lunch or anything.

I leave the manilla envelope in the latest in the long string of innocent looking places I’ve found throughout the city and then head in another direction. I don’t bother sitting down like I normally would on the bench to make it look less suspicious; I don’t bother reading a newspaper for a few minutes only to set it down on the chair, my report in the folds for Sofia to find.

No. I just want to go home and sleep, so I drop the envelope and head home.

I almost make it, too.

Except then, there he is - Eric - and he’s holding my report in his hands with a furious expression on his face.

“What the fuck is this?”

I stare at him, not really believing this is happening.

Because what? I haven’t even spoken to him in a while, and here he is _following me?_

“I said what the fuck _is_ this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to make my voice as confused as possible, but he doesn’t seem to be buying it. _Fuck_.

He grabs my arm, and crap. He pulls me into an alley and gets really close to my face.

“You - _bitch_ ,” he looks so betrayed, and a small part of me feels bad, because yeah, I strung him along, but seriously? He’s taking this too personally. “The boss - he - you fucking _bitch_!”

Right, because he’s the one that introduced me as a candidate as Ms. Li’s assistant. He’s the one they’ll blame.

He pulls his fist back - and I just know he’s aiming for my face, and I tense a bit, but fuck, I haven’t eaten enough today. I quickly raise my arms to block, falling into the rhythm of moves I’d learned at the MMA gym years ago.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, even as I begin to play dirty and aim a kick between his legs.

This only makes him angrier and he manages to grab a fistfull of my hair - why didn’t I put it up - and pulls, and I think maybe I’ll just try the sonic vibrations of doom anyway, and turn except it hurts and - fuck, fuck -

_Bang!_

That . . . Eric’s face is - it’s . . . there’s blood spattered all over my face and hair and - and . . . his head is  - it’s bloody and a mess and I can’t even really make out his features at all, even as his body falls forward onto me and my ears ring from the loud noise.

I scream, barely hearing my own voice and chills running down my body as I back up. Someone drops from above - _one of the roofs, cause I’m in an alley and fuck fuck fuck. This guy has a gun, and I didn’t eat enough -_

I take a step back, and this guy doesn’t even pay me that much attention to me, taking this _huge knife out, hacking away at Eric’s neck before sticking it in a duffel bag._

I think I’m going to be sick.

I’m definitely going to be sick.

Except there’s no food in my stomach and instead I find myself sitting with my head between my legs, breathing deeply for some semblance of stability.

“You alright?” comes the muffled question, as the red helmet finally turns to face me. I try not to focus on how thick this guy is - his muscles clearly visible through his black combat pants and leather jacket. I try not to focus on the guns currently at his sides, or the AK-47 strapped to his back - those metal death machines looking more menacing with my lack of fuel than ever before.

I nod slowly responding before I can stop myself. “I could have taken care of him myself.”

_What the fuck is going on in my head that I’d say that?!_

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t sound like he thinks I could, have but he kneels next to me and pulls my hands away from my face.

“Up you get,” he says as he pulls me up.

“You’re the Red Hood.”

“Heard about me?”

He sounds amused, the maniac.

“You killed Eric.”

“Was that his name? You knew him.”

Nevermind - not amused. Suspicious. He’s definitely suspicious.

“He’s - he was . . . ” I try to answer but he’s searching Eric now, leaving me to stand on my own (not the best idea right now) and comes up with a manilla envelope - _my manilla envelope._

Fuck.

I begin backing away slowly, not taking my eyes off him, even as his head tilts to the side. And then I’m running, taking a quaker oats bar out of my purse and running as fast as I can to the office.

“Annie?”

It’s Ms. Li still at the office, and I blurt out, “Red Hood killed Eric.”

“What?”

I start shaking and now I can’t stop it as the bile rises in my throat and I rush to the office restrooms.

“Annie?”

Ms. Li’s holding out a wet washcloth to me and wiping my face - and right. Eric’s blood. Because he’s dead. After following me to the dead drop. By Red Hood.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, even though it feels like a lie.

“Take it from the beginning.”

And so I bullshit my way through an explanation, saying I was heading to one of my favorite delis for a late night snack when I ran into Eric and then . . .

“Things got a little heated and then all of a sudden . . . he’s dead. He’s shot in the head and . . .”

“It’s okay. It’s alright.” She rubs my back. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

There’s a reprimand in her voice.

“We weren’t. He just - he wanted. . .”

“Was he trying anything?” Ms. Li looks upset now.

“Even if he did, he can’t anymore.”

Ms. Li nods and then looks up - someone’s at the door, that’s a shadow and as I look up I see him - the boss.

“I’ll take her home,” Ms. Li says, “and I’ll be back in the morning.”

_____

The following few days are tense whenever I go to the office.

I can feel their eyes on me, suspicious. So I keep my purse stocked with Quaker Oats granola bars and eat large meals, making sure I’m stuffed with as much food as possible.

Just in case.

So, on the fourth day after Eric’s death - he’s not going to get a funeral any at the office are invited to, even though his head has been mailed to the office - I come home and I nearly shatter the bones of the guy inside my apartment.

Because Red Hood’s in my apartment. What the fuck is Red Hood doing in my apartment?

And he’s just sitting there, absentmindedly thumbing through the files on my kitchen table - the files about my mother’s murder, the files on LexCorp, the files on Black Mask, and the file I keep for my bills.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house.”

I’m not as scared as last time, because even though he still has all those guns - and what the fuck? Is that a bazooka? - I have superpowers.

“Just wanted to know what this is.”

He pulls my manilla envelope out of his jacket without even looking up.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

He looks up this time, and seems to be silently judging me for my language.

“I mean I could always take this to Blackie.”

“And I could always make it so you could never walk or have children ever again, but that’s impolite. So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

And this guy bursts out laughing.

“You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that. But seriously.” His laughter fades away and he waves the folder up high - _damn_ this guy’s tall. And thick. “You’re a spy. That’s a dangerous profession, you know?”

“You need to leave.”

“What? You got a boyfriend you don’t want seeing me?”

“And if I did?”

Not that I do, but he’s being a bit of an ass.

And he shrugs, and I swear, there _must_ be a smirk on his face. “Worth it.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I already told you,” and he waves the folder in my face again.

“And I already answered, it’s none of your business. Next question.”

“See, I think this is a report. So who do you work for?”

He completely ignores my answer - ass - and walks a little closer to me. And he’s too close - he’s a killer - he killed Eric (who admittedly deserved it, probably, but I can still feel his blood on my face and the shock from the violence and-) he’s close enough that I can make a grab for one of the guns at his side. It’s a stupid idea, but I’m running on adrenaline and all of a sudden I’m on the ground with his thighs on either side of my face - and I just _push._

And send the Red Hood flying, and the pictures on the wall shaking.

Fuck.

He gets up slowly, patting his jacket to get rid of imaginary dust.

And for a second he just stares at me - I’m still on the ground trying to get up and catch my breath.

“Well, that was interesting.”

The room shakes a bit more as I glare at him.

“Woah, woah, I get it. No need to bring down the whole building.”

I push myself up and head to the kitchen for a granola bar, and -

“Quaker Oats? That’s the food you go for?”

Ignore him, ignore him, it’s not worth it. Ignore him.

“What can I do to make you go away?”

He’s leaning over the counter, and I’m really starting to get pissed off at this guy.

“You could go on a date with me?” He must take one look at my face, because he quickly adds, “or you could just give me this information. I mean sure - send it to whoever you have to, but I want in on it.”

“Or what?”

“How many people know about your habits ‘quaker.’”

And what - quaker?

“Why the fuck did you just call me quaker?”

“Quaker Oats, earthquake . . . it’s better than vibe.”

I - I have nothing to say to that. Except, Quake is Marvel, and this - I can’t deal with this.

“Whatever.”

“What you don’t like the name?”

“I’m tired and hungry. And I have work in the morning.” With that, I slam my bedroom door closed and press my back to it - sinking and trying not to think of how if I didn’t have any powers - with all those muscles of his and his quick reactions - I would probably be dead.

“You didn’t answer my question!” he calls through the door.

And I briefly wonder which one he’s talking about - the boyfriend? The date? Or how many people know I’m spying on Black Mask?

I decide it doesn’t really matter, and by the time I open my bedroom door again ten minutes later, he’s gone, leaving just a number taped to my fridge.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve 

School starts about a week later, and I haven’t seen a hint of Red Hood - the guy who killed Eric, the guy that dresses up like Joker’s old alter ego, the guy -

A small voice in my mind supplies - the rather well-built guy with beautiful muscles and -

I squash the small voice in my head as fast as I can.

So, I’m definitely not freaking out when Richard Grayson sits in front of me on the grass in the quad.

“Hey, Annie.” He’s sitting cross legged, but I can see, just beyond his shoulder the other guy - Tim - and a whole crowd of teenagers. I shudder to think who they might be - probably more sidekicks.

“Go away,” I say after a moment, turning back to my textbook and making another note in the margin before turning to page-

“So, I know a few years ago you said no-”

“If I said no a few years ago, I doubt my answer will change.” I interrupt not even looking up. This looks like a promising quote; I should save it for -

“And I mean, a lot can change in a couple of years -”

“I doubt it.”

Yeah, I’ll save it for my final paper. Maybe my thesis can be about -

“And anyway we have a couple of different teams -”

“I’m not going to join any of your fucking teams.”

Fuck this, I can’t work in this environment. Not with this guy around - there’s no way I can continue studying - I doubt he even knows what the word means -  _ how long has he been at Gotham University? _

“You don’t even know any of us!”

“That’s exactly the point.”

“How - how can you be so -” he looks frustrated, and I’m mildly reminded of a petulant two year old upset about not getting his way.

“How old are you again?”

“What?”

“Because aren’t you significantly older than me?”

He looks offended.

“I’m not  _ that  _ much older than you.”

“And you’re still in college?”

He has the grace to look ashamed.

“You look like a two year old right now with the pouting. Look, not all of us can live off a trust fund.” Definitely offended now. “Some of us need to graduate which means I have homework to do. I don’t want to join any teams any time soon, it’s too much work and way too much of a commitment.” 

“And yet you work for the mob.”

You know what - fuck that. He has no right to judge.

“See you later, Big Bird.”

His eyes widen, but I don’t bother to stick around, I have places to be and homework to do, so I quickly gather my books and walk away.

“Wait! Where’d you hear that nickname?!”

Well, even if I can’t study, at least I’ll get some payback.

“Tim!” I yell back and his face looks murderous. Maybe I’ll finally take the poor guy off the shitlist . . . 

Then again . . . I  _ did  _ spend hours on rewriting those papers. Decisions, decisions, but first - homework.

_____

I hate grocery shopping, not only because it’s stressful as fuck (don’t give me that look, adulting is hard, and I eat a  _ lot _ ), but because I live on the fifth floor of a Gotham City walk up. Which means stairs. One trip - because I don’t have a car and I’m not leaving all this stuff where anyone can grab it - with heavy bags. Up. Stairs.

But, I’m not bitter (I totally am).

My arms strain as I practically crawl up the last steps and ugh, this is so heavy.

I drop my groceries in the entryway the second I get inside, and lock the door, before I grab a granola bar (again) and head to my laptop on the dining table.

I need to put the finishing touches on my paper which is due tonight and -

“So. Big Bird?”

I might jump out of my skin, for a second, but I’ll forever deny it to anyone who asks.

Because he’s in my apartment again. And I hadn’t even noticed. I turn slowly and glare a bit.

“Are you  _ spying on me _ ?”

“You never answered my question.”

He sounds mildly defensive and definitely amused.

“Which question? I dodged a lot of them, and - hey, don’t change the subject! How did you know -” He’s touching my shoulder -  _ why the fuck is he touching my shoulder?! _

“Say hello to my best friend - the bug.”

I jump a bit when I see what looks like a roach on my shoulder and immediately start trying to  _ get it off _ and - oh. It’s not a bug - thank God. It’s a listening device. Or rather it  _ was.  _ I might have crushed it with my vibrations of doom.

“What the hell, you just - that was expensive.”

I’m still trying to calm down from my mini freak out that I just shoot a glare at him.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “It’s not the only one I have.”

I have to suppress a shudder at that.

“So, you never said, why’d you call that guy Big Bird.”

Because the Bats won’t leave me the fuck alone. Of course I can’t  _ say _ that, so instead I just say, “It was a funny nickname I got from his younger brother, and I felt like being obnoxious.”

I turn back to my laptop and he hums, sitting on the other chair - _ mom’s chair _ \- elbows on my table and even though I can’t see his eyes through that helmet, I  _ know _ he’s staring at me.

“So, that date -”

“I’m not going to date you.”

“So, you’ll be my spy?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Well, it’s one or the other. Consider it a thank you for saving your life when that guy -”

“His name’s Eric, and I told you, I had it handled.”

“It didn’t look like it.”

“Well, I  _ did.  _ Why are you even doing this? What does it matter? Aren’t you a psycho killer or something? Why the fuck do you care about information on the Black Mask’s organization?”

The helmet tilts to the side and he seems to be examining me for a bit before he responds. And he sounds offended. “I’m not a psycho killer. I’m just doing what needs to be done to clean up this town.”

“By getting information on Black Mask? To do what?”

“See, the thing Batman doesn’t understand is you can’t stop crime. And I’m not going to. I’m going to control it.”

It’s not - it’s not a bad idea, except that’s - that‘s basically what Falcone does.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to take over and make sure they don’t sell to kids. I’m going to be the one protecting the layman.”

“You say that now, but you basically just want things to stay the same and be the one in charge.”

He seems to scoff a bit.

“I  _ don’t  _ want things to stay the same. I don’t want them dealing to kids and my punishments aren’t a slap on the wrist. I’m willing to do what needs to be done to clean up this city and if that means killing the ones that go against my orders, I will.”

“Just the ones that go against your orders?”

“I mean I wouldn’t be opposed to killing psychos like Two-Face, or -”

“And the Joker?”

He’s silent, but Jason’s face flashes in my mind, along with all the guilt I’ve been suppressing while working for the mob, and I want to know his answer on this. What about the Joker?

“The Joker’s at the top of my list.”

Before I can stop myself, I nod and say, “Okay. I’ll help you. What kind of information are you looking for?”

“Just like that?”

It sounds like he wasn’t expecting my response. 

“I don’t agree with a lot of the things Batman does - or rather doesn’t do. Even if you killed Eric, I can get on board with getting drugs away from kids. So what do you need?”

He leans back in his chair.

“Well, first of all, who do you work for? Besides Black Mask, that is.”

“Falcone.”

He leans forward a bit. “Really?”

“I’ve worked for him since I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

I roll my eyes. “Well my mom had just died and I didn’t want to move in with Lex Luthor in Metropolis, so I didn’t have that many options.”

“Why would you move in with Lex Luthor?”

“Because he’s a meddlesome businessman that thinks he owns me because I’m a science experiment gone wrong? I don’t know.”

He’s silent, and, as the silence extends, I feel obligated to add, “I mean, you saw what I can do.”

“How long have you been like that?”

“A few years? Probably since I was nine - but I couldn’t really control it for a while and didn’t even know about it until I was twelve - I think .”

He nods slowly, and then asks, “So, you never answered - you got a boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the smile that comes to my face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“No seriously!”

“I have a paper to write, so if you’re going to be so obnoxious, you’re going to have to leave.”

He holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Okay, okay, what’s the paper about?”

He’s actually a great study buddy - this Red Hood - great at sentence structure and grammar  _ and great at helping me find quotes to support my thesis statement _ . And by the end of the night, I have my seven page paper almost done and plans to send him my next report on Black Mask.

I just hope this won’t end up biting back at me later.

_____

I’m freaking out over Thanksgiving break because of this stupid stupid test - and this study guide isn’t helping a bit.

I think my eyes are going to dry out and fall out of my skull at this rate.

Ugh.

This year, school has been rough, and we’re about to have finals and  _ then just one more semester. _ I vaguely remember the last year of both High School and College  _ in-the-before _ being really difficult to get through (although to be fair, it was all a struggle bus and a half).

But I just want it to be over. I want to have my degree and leave the mob business forever.

_ Maybe _ I’ll apply to Wayne Enterprises (it’s as good a job as any, and I could definitely see myself as an analyst or administrator), but most likely, I’ll just apply to become a sales representative or try for a Masters Degree. Either way, I don’t really have  _ any _ idea what I’m going to do from here.

And it’s so stressful, not knowing what to do with life and with this test hanging over my head that I just shut down.

Instead of focusing on finding a solution to my problems, I  turn on the TV to news - and  _ crap _ . The Justice League is the talk of the nation, right now. 

Something about the end of the world. Again. And  _ I just can’t deal with this _ .

I quickly turn off the TV and sigh, getting up to stress bake, and by the time it’s five in the evening, I call Ms. Smith.

“Hello?”

She’s shouting again.

“Hey, this is Annie.”

“Annie! Happy Thanksgiving!”

“You too! How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m hanging in there! And you?”

“I’ve given up on trying to study for finals.”

She laughs, and it brings a smile to my face, and - and I get an idea.

“Are you busy today? Because I have a few pies, and no one to eat it with, if you want to come over.”

“Oh, well . . .” she’s hesitant, and my heart drops a little, because I could really use the company.

“I’m not feeling too good to making a long trip, why don’t you come over?”

And it’s thanksgiving - so of course I’ll go.

“Absolutely! I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I get to the apartment with a few minutes to spare.

“Ms. Janet! Things are good?”

“Yes, dear! I have the rent check, by the way!” she calls from the kitchen, and I walk over with the pies, dropping my keys in my purse.

She’s busy at the stove making a thick beef stew and rice - comfort food - and smiles as she turns to me.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hey! I have apple pie and pumpkin pie and -” she kisses my cheek and takes one of the pies.

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to bring so much. I’m happy just having you here. Now why don’t you set the table while I get this meal ready and we can talk about how school is going and when you’re going to give me great grandkids.”

“Wait, what?”

I can’t help laughing.

“Yes! I’m not getting any younger.”

Ms. Janet’s a riot.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend, I doubt grandkids are anywhere near in the future.”

“Well then you ought to get dating.”

She says it with a smile, but I’m not sure if she’s joking or not. Either way, our conversation moves to school and thank goodness she doesn’t even broach the topic of what I’m going to do after graduation.

And by the time dinner is done, the dishes are clean, and our conversation has waned, it’s ten o’clock at night, and I’m making my way home.

It’s already really cold in Gotham, especially with the sun down, and I briefly regret not grabbing another jacket, but I’ve already committed to my trek home.

“Nice night.”

I almost wish I brought my glock, because while I’m badass enough on my own, especially after all that food, stopping bullets is tiresome. And he has a  _ lot _ of bullets in those guns strapped to his thighs.

“Hello, Red.”

“So, you can tell your grandma you don’t have a boyfriend, but not me?”

Fuck.

“Where’s the bug  _ this _ time.”

He chuckles and then reaches for my purse and pulls it out.

_ Crrk. _

“Hey!”

I smirk as he turns his gaze from the crushed piece of technology in his hand to me. “That’s what you get for spying on me.”

“You can’t see it, because of the mask, but I’m glaring at you.”

And I can’t help it - that’s funny, and I start laughing, handing him my pie pans. “Here, make yourself useful.”

He takes it, but says, “You sure this is how you want me to be useful? You could just tell her  _ I’m  _ your boyfriend, it’ll get her to stop bothering you about great grandkids.”

I snort and look up at the night sky. “She’s not  _ really  _ my grandma.”

“She’s not?”

“We just sort of found each other. She lost her home because of Falcone and was asking him for help and I - I had this condo just sitting empty from . . . and anyway, I wanted to help.”

There’s silence and I glance over at Red Hood, who, after a moment, says, “You can’t see it, because of the mask, but I’m smiling.”

It brings a smile to my face as we come up to my apartment.

And then I turn to him - but he just keeps going - straight up.

“Hey!”

All I can do is follow him up the stairs and then -

“So, when are we going to have that date?”

I roll my eyes.

“I don’t date masked morons.”

“Ouch. I’m insulted.”

“You should be. It  _ was _ an insult.”

“Alright, give me one good reason why you won’t.”

He hands me the pie pans after I’ve unlocked the door and we’ve both entered, and crosses his arms.

“One: I’ve never seen your face and don’t even know your name. Two: I’m vain and superficial, and without seeing your face I can’t make an informed decision. Three: You’re one of Gotham's criminals, technically, and I’m certain Batman is going to come after you sooner or later. I have enough problems getting him to leave me alone without adding this to the list.”

“Wait, what? Why would Batman-”

“I don’t know, ask him.”

It’s quiet for a while, and then he gets really close to my face.

“Maybe I will. See you later, Annie!

And if I don’t move for a while, well. It has nothing to do with how he smells like leather and gun powder and - fuck. Since when was  _ any _ of that supposed to  _ smell _ attractive.

_____

Librarians love it when absolute silence reigns in their sanctuary. Me? I love it too and feel bad when I have to talk. Except this girl has come straight up to my table and sits down as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And she’s smiling at me as she opens her books.

“Um, hi.”

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind, there weren’t that many places to sit.”

“Go ahead, I don’t own the table.” 

Even if I wish I did.

“I’m Stephanie. Stephanie Brown.”

Is that supposed to mean something? She said it like one would say the name Bond - James Bond.

“Annie Simon.”

I really hope she doesn’t keep talking.

“How many finals do you have left?”

Damn.

“Just a couple.”

Vague and unhelpful. Maybe that’ll get her to leave me alone.

“Yeah?” She’s smiling . . . “I’ve been trying to find a good place to study for a while and I just - “

“You know we’re supposed to be quiet, right?”

Damn. Now she looks like a kicked puppy.

I’m a sucker for puppies.

“Sorry,” she mutters, and I sigh.

“You a freshman?”

She nods, and I scoot over to look at her books.

“This professor’s an ass, but his tests are basically the study guide, so if you can get that, you’re golden.  For history, forget the study guide, it’s useless. Professor Collins just likes to mess with you freshmen. And the study guides are going to be your best bet with the other two classes - but don’t memorize it or anything.”

She smiles.

“Thanks.”

“Steph? Where are -”

Fuck.

“Yo.” I pull away from Stephanie’s books because that’s Tim - the current boy wonder - and why the fuck is he glaring at me?

“Did you have to tell Dick who told you?”

Oh. Right.

That was fun.

“Consider it some of the payback for my laptop.”

“What?”

Oh? Does he not remember? 

“You wiped my laptop, remember?”

“What, Tim?”

Ooh. Stephanie sounds jealous.

“Don’t worry, he’s too young for me. And he’s on my shitlist.” She doesn’t look too upset, anymore, even though she still looks a little jealous. Tim looks annoyed, so that’s a plus.

“You shouldn’t have been hacking Wayne Enterprises,” he responds, and hey! There’s a normal person here. Does he not care?

“Tim?”

“This is Annie Simon, Steph.”

Some kind of realization seems to dawn on her and she stares at me.

“Okay, guessing she’s in on your family secret. Okay. See you later.”

I’m not dealing with this shit. I gather my books and just as I’m about to escape, Stephanie calls -  _ this is a library, why do you not understand that? -  _ “Thanks for the advice!”

I can’t shake the feelings of guilt though - guilt because since I’ve started this . . . partnership, for lack of a better word, with Red Hood, I haven’t really thought of Jason as much - yeah he’s a big part of the  _ reason _ I’m doing this, but . . . And then the boy wonder just had to show up and ugh! 

I’m all sorts of messed up.

_____

Winter Holidays arrive faster than I expect once finals are over and I’m able to beg off going to Falcone’s parties - because  _ undercover _ . Since Black Mask doesn’t really  _ do _ holidays, I’m allowed free time to myself.

So I bake pies and cook a turkey - and have a feast all to myself in general. And it’s really lonely, because Ms. Janet is having bingo night with the old people at the hospital (they’re her friends) and Emma and Sarah are on some ski trip in Colorado. (That’s such a terrible idea, what were they thinking?) And I’m not about to call Red Hood.

It makes for a very boring holiday with me just wandering around my apartment eating, doing some push ups, squats, and situps. And before I know it, it’s New Years Eve and -

And I don’t even flinch when I see him at my kitchen table rifling through my files again. It was bound to happen anyway.

“Maybe I should just give you a key.”

“Hey, Annie.”

“Hello to you too.”

“Didn’t have any plans for the Holidays?”

“Well, Mrs. Smith is heading to the church, and told me not to worry about her. . .”

“So that’s a no?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You can’t see-”

“Oh, shut up.” I smack his shoulder and head over to the kitchen.

“Want some pie? Oh, wait - that would mean you’d have to take off the helmet. Never mind.”

“No! I want pie!”

He sounds so dismayed that I put make two plates of pie and set one in front of him.

For a solid minute while I’m eating, I’m sure he just stares at the plate, until I just roll my eyes and get up to grab one of mom’s old eye masks.

“There. Eat.”

It’s weird, not being able to see and eating, but shortly after, I hear a weird sound, and - and wow. He’s eating the pie.

“This is good. Where’d you get it.”

It’s ridiculous how proud I am of my pie at his words. Because I know I’m a good cook, but to have it validated by someone else? - That’s priceless. 

So I respond with an “I made it.” 

And try not to let the stunned silence (it has to be stunned, what else would it be?) get to my head.

I finish my pie - I think, I can’t  _ really _ tell because of the eye mask, but - he takes my plate away, so I guess it’s safe to say even if I’m not, I’m not getting any more pie.

“Thanks. It was good.”

“I should hope so. I’ve been making pie for years.”

“For the Holidays?”

“Yeah, with mom.”

He hums and then - and then there’s - did he just kiss my forehead?

I reach up to the eye mask, my face beginning to heat up, but by the time it’s off and I can see again, he’s gone, and so is my pie pan.

There’s just a note - what is  _ with _ him and leaving notes - saying  _ Thanks. We on for Friday night? I’m thinking we could watch a movie. Without the eye mask - though that does give me some ideas.  _

And then there’s a smiley face as the signature.

I snort at his ridiculousness, but take the paper and stick it in my wallet.

If I look at it various times throughout the next few days while at work - well, who can blame me? 

_____

My last semester rolls around and it’s become a routine, between Red Hood and I. He comes over, flexing his beautiful muscles, and I pretend not to notice while he helps me edit my English essays and my senior research paper (the monster of a paper that reads like a book) and tries to pry intel from me with intermittent requests for a date.

And pie. He takes to asking for pie a  _ lot. _

And even as we become better friends and partners, it gets harder and harder to shrug off his requests for a date.

I  _ know _ he’s just saying it to mess with me, because he won’t ever let me see his face, I  _ know. _ But it doesn’t change the face that I’m really starting to have a crisis here.

So when I see the shipment manifest as I’m filing papers for Ms. Li in the last week of April, I welcome the distraction.

I briefly memorize the shipment information and when I get home write it down and send a quick message to the Red Hood’s phone.

_ I saw this cool advertisement at work today.  _

I don’t even have to wait a minute before I get a response.

_ I’ll be there in thirty minutes. _

He’s here in twenty, but at least this time he knocks.

“What’s the news?”

I look up from my pot - I’m making soup - and raise my eyebrows. “You’re early.”

He shrugs. “Business went smoother than expected. What’s the news?”

I turn back to the pot. “A shipment’s coming in this Saturday from LexCorp - Black Mask has it labeled as important technology and with the subtext AMAZO - whatever that is -”

“AMAZO?” Red had been poking around in my kitchen until I said the name, but now he has his hands on my shoulders and - he’s so close. Crap.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Fuck.”

He’s pacing now, and I’m a little confused.

“Red?”

“When does it arrive?”

“Oh, no. You’re not doing this without telling me what exactly it is.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“ _ I’m _ dangerous. Besides, if it’s tech from LexCorp I want in on it.”

His body looks tense.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“And going after this on your own  _ is _ ? Look, I won’t even do much, if you don’t want, but I want a sample of it,  _ something. _ ”

We have some sort of stare off until he finally mutters “fine.”

And I’m so relieved, because this is what I’ve been waiting for - solid intel.

“Good. The shipment’s supposed to arrive from across the river - from Metropolis - on Saturday.”

“Why do you need it again?”

“It’s tech that’s been in close proximity with LexCorp.”

“So the only reason you need it is to get into LexCorp’s systems?”

“Yes?”

I don’t know where he’s going with this.

“I just . . . I guess I’ll just have to put my plans into motion a little sooner than I’d liked.”

I’m not impressed and really annoyed. Because  _ what plans? _

“You haven’t even  _ done _ that much with the intel I’ve given you.”

“Just because you haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean I haven’t started taking over.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, just last week I -”

He gets quiet all of a sudden and I frown, turning the heat off on the stove and turning to face him again. “Last week?”

He doesn’t say anything. And for a long moment, I can’t figure it out until it hits me and I realize - he doesn’t trust me. At all. Red Hood doesn’t trust me. And I can’t even blame him.

So, I nod and say, “It’s okay. Whatever. I’ll just.” Deep breath, because this hurts a lot more than it should - he shouldn’t trust me, I’m not that trustworthy and - “I’ll see you Saturday.”

I grab a bowl from the cupboard and try to pour the soup without looking back. Because I know he’s gone. He’s not going to stick around and - 

Yep. Gone. Just like that.

_____

When Saturday arrives, I’m at Gotham’s docks, dressed up in my old Catwoman Halloween costume, a position I thought I would  _ never _ be in, trying to finally get some solid intel on Luthor, intel I don’t need to travel to Metropolis for. 

It’s cold, even though it’s practically May. Red left the keys to his motorcycle with me early this evening, but I haven’t seen any sign of Red, since.

And it feels too quiet. 

The time for the shipment to arrive comes and goes, and I’m left anxiously waiting for  _ something  _ to happen.

And it doesn’t. 

It’s almost an hour later that I hear a van accelerating  _ way _ too fast with three morons inside. 

They’re driving like lunatics, and I can’t help but think to myself how idiotic that is - do they  _ want _ to die?

Oh, fuck. Batman’s following them. And derailing them.

Actually, they have some pretty decent survival skills - trying to get away from the bat.

Only, their driving around like lunatics makes them drop the shipment and roll over - and I know it’s  _ my  _ shipment by the logo on the side.

“Who do you work for?”

At least they can keep their mouths shut.

And then, I don’t even understand why but the shipment starts to  _ open  _ and Batman and Nightwing are fighting this robot thing - and that must be AMAZO, because it’s the only tech I see. And it’s got fucking lasers for eyes.

I hide. I hide behind a cargo container while Nightwing and Batman fight the robot until it’s nothing but scrap metal. 

And then just as they start to interrogate Red’s men - they’re loyal at first until Batman scares the crap out of them - and they’re about to give him up, there’s a loud shot - and I can’t  _ see  _ what’s going on, but I know _. _

I know Red must have killed them. I hang back while Red gets chased halfway around Gotham and I sneak over to grab a piece of AMAZO’s leg - even as he’s hanging over the men. Maybe I can vibrate a piece off . . .

Just . . . a little . . . yes!

“What the - hey!”

Damn.

Nightwing almost caught me. Well, might as well commit. I step out of the shadows, put my hands forward and  _ push _ \- because I don’t want to kill him, just slow him down enough for me to get to the motorcycle and run.

And I succeed, just enough to get away, but not fast enough to avoid the bow staff - push, push - 

Or turn to dust, that works too. 

I was aiming to just get the bow staff away from me, and instead disintegrated it.

Sorry, Tim. Maybe I’ll take you off the shitlist and we can be even now?

Man, this was fun.

I get home after ditching Red’s motorcycle a good mile from my house - they thought I didn’t see their tracker, but I did! Red’s better at hiding his bugs. I’ve learned from him.

And I go straight to bed, hiding the mechanical leg under my bed because I’m not about to lose sleep over this. I can work on it in the morning.

_____

I go into work Monday after classes to find the whole office in disarray and Ms. Li looking at me sternly.

“Where have you been? I know it’s almost your birthday, but that doesn’t mean you can just show up late.”

She doesn’t have to make this personal, bringing up my birthday like she does, but she looks really stressed. And I’m  _ not _ late.

“Classes got out at twelve. Today’s Monday - Classes day. Did you forget?”

She frowns - guess she doesn’t like being corrected when she’s wrong.

“Just - just go home. Things are getting very stressful right now.”

“Why?”

I know why, but I want to hear it from her.

“There’s been someone making some serious moves into the business and he cost the boss a lot of money last night. A hit’s been put out for the Red Hood.”

Fuck. Then he - he’s already been -  _ fuck _ .

“So, you should go home, take the day off, and hope you don’t become a target. We’re going to handle this.”

“How.”

“Black Mask’s going to send the Fearsome Hand of Four.”

Fuck.

I get home to find Emma and Sarah waiting at my door arguing about whether or not I’m going to answer.

“We’ve been standing out here for three minutes, now, Sarah, I don’t think she’s in the mood.”

“I mean, if I were inside, I would - but seeing as I’m not, you’re going to be there for a while.”

I say it just to be obnoxious and catch them off guard.

“Annie!” They rush to me, and begin yelling in my ear about how we just  _ have _ to go out.

And even though it’s to celebrate my almost graduation, it feels wrong to do this. To go out.

“Come on! You ditched us on your birthday and you don’t even have classes tomorrow!”

And fuck it. I want to have some fun and ignore the fact that there’s a hit out on Red Hood.

There’s a bar just about a block away and after sending Red a quick message of warning about the Fearsome Hand of Four, I’m off.

It’s a nice club, but I can tell there are drug deals going down in the corners and the VIP lounge is filled with tons of shady looking people. 

I even recognize some of them and they raise their glasses in greeting.

“Who’s that.”

“No idea.”

“He seems to know you.” 

“I really couldn’t care less, Emma.”

Even as I sip my cup of seltzer water, there’s an odd sound - like a car and -

“Get down!” I grab Emma and Sarah as glass goes flying and  _ a fucking car comes crashing into the bar _ .

I cover Emma and Sarah as bullets are indiscriminately shot around, making sure to keep a steady flow of out vibrations and then -

“Hey! Don’t you know who protects us?”

Bang.

There are a couple of stragglers and I guess the three of us do a good job of looking dead that when the police arrive to take statements, they seem surprised to see the three of us get up.

“Annie, are you okay?” Emma and Sarah seem beyond spooked, while I’m just angry.

Because how fucking dare he - Black Mask that bastard. He sent them here to get at Red Hood and - ugh.

“I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

Emma and Sarah let the ambulances on-site take a look at their vitals, but I’m not letting the doctors  _ anywhere _ near me. 

By the time we’re released (after witness statements are written and general check ups are done) it’s three in the morning.

“Sorry it wasn’t like we planned.” Sarah tells me in a small voice outside her dorm.

And I feel bad, because yeah, I’ve gotten used to shit blowing up in my face, but Emma and Sarah? They have been able to get away with cowering from the crazies of Gotham so far.

And it sucks, that they probably won’t be able to do that for much longer.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell them - mostly to make myself feel better.

I’m not sure it works.

_____

It’s late - or early - that night that he climbs into my bedroom window. I almost push him back and aim my glock - which stays under my pillow all the time at him - and then I see who it is and stop. 

His hands are up in surrender.

“Morning to you too.”

“Red? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Can I crash here for the night?” 

I eye him suspiciously before shaking my head and muttering ‘whatever’ before turning around and falling back into bed. He climbs in next to me - pulling me into a hug and -

He’s taken his helmet off.

“What are you doing?”

“Go to sleep,” he tells me.

I shut my eyes and try to turn around.

“No, come on just -”

“Red.” I say his name a bit strong and he sighs.

His arms are reaching over my head and covering my eyes while I turn around.

And then I don’t even know what to do. Because here we are again. 

So I just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” I mutter, not really meaning it, because I’m so curious, but also sort of meaning it, because this is uncomfortable.

Another sigh until he lets go. And I keep my eyes closed, because I  _ promised. _

“Thanks. For earlier.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I do. You didn’t have to help me get the robot.”

He’s silent for a moment, before responding.

“And you didn’t have to send the warning to me about the fearsome hand of four. But you did.”

I can’t see him and it’s annoying. Because I just want to see expressions on his face. Instead I carry on, trying not to let my frustration show.

“It’s okay if you don’t trust me - I get it.”

“That’s not it.”

“But, you can’t just show up here like -”

“I just felt like some company.”

“He’s going to kill you, you know that right? Black Mask’s going to stop at nothing to get to you, he’ll do crazy things and -”

“Well, I mean, that was the plan.”

What the fuck?

“What do you mean that was the plan? Why would you  _ want _ him to keep going after you?”

“You’re one to talk, going to a bar at night - you almost died . . . I can’t . . . I don’t want to talk to about it right now. It’s still . . . my plan’s still a work in progress.”

“Oh really? Well what are we  _ supposed _ to talk abou- mpf.”

There’s a warm pressure on my lips and I can feel his hands gripping my arms and even as I gasp and my eyes snap open (he has green eyes?) because what the hell (I thought it was just a joke, his requests for a date) something - it has to be his tongue, I realize - slips into my mouth and . . . He’s . . . he’s kissing me - and he’s a  _ really _ good kisser.

“Just stop talking,” he mutters against my lips after a moment and his hands are letting go of my arms, coming up to grip my face and tangle into my hair and  - and I can do that. I can shut up.

I - He’s really very distracting and when the kissing doesn’t seem to be enough, he begins to pull at my shirt and my bra, eventually reaching down below my waist.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of sensation and pleasure, with me on top at some point, and when I’m shaking at the end, I swear it’s not just me.


	13. How to Fail at Being a Wallflower

Chapter 013  - How to fail at being a Wallflower

I wake up the next morning to a cold bed. The sheets are on my bare skin -  _ why? I never sleep out of my pajamas, this city is always way too cold for that _ \- and as I try to move, I realize what a horrible idea that is. Because it hurts - everything hurts, like I worked out at the gym and did too many squats only it’s muscles I’ve  _ never _ used before hurts - and  _ fuck. _ That’s not what happened. That’s not what happened at all, is it?

The memories flood back and - and I slept with Red Hood last night.  _ Why? _ What was I thinking? What possessed me to do that - what possessed  _ him _ ? Am I going insane? I try not to think about how amazing it was and how amazing  _ he  _ felt. And - and shit. I’m screwed. I am so screwed (literally and figuratively) because after a night like that - I think he ruined me for anybody else. I don’t think  _ anyone _ can measure up to - well,  _ him _ .

I can tell he’s gone, because I’m strangely cold, and I peek an eye open to see the clock by my bedside - it’s ten in the morning. It’s not  _ too _ terribly late considering what time I got home and how I spent the evening -  _ don’t think about it, you’ll just want to go for another round. _

Except it’s Tuesday and ten o’clock means work. Work that I’m late for. Work for the Black Mask who Red’s trying to bring down.

And it’s not like I can even tell the truth, “Sorry I’m late. I spent last night sleeping with your enemy.” That would not go over well.

I struggle to convince myself to move and the only thing that really gets me going is my grumbling stomach - not the thought of work (that actually almost convinces me to stay in bed) and not the thought that Red Hood might still be here - I’m not sure I can handle seeing him after that fantastic night - No, my stomach (demanding food) is what finally convinces me to crawl out of bed, grab an oversized shirt and head to the kitchen - following the smell of coffee.

He made coffee -  _ bless you, Red  _ \- and just beside the machine is another one of his notes.

_ Don’t go to work next week. Say you’re sick. _

Which, easy enough. But, Falcone won’t like it. And neither will Ms. Li.

But first, I need food. I’m too tired to deal with this. I’m almost relieved to see him not in my apartment at this point. Another part of me is annoyed. How dare he just disappear like that, without even a goodbye?

As I’m putting toast into the toaster, I turn on the news - and immediately regret it.

“Back to our developing story; early this morning, Gotham and Metropolis both experienced a low level earthquake, leaving scientists baffled. Seismologist Dr. Jolene Relazzo, you have more information, tell us what scientists know as of now.”

The screen switches to a Guest speaker and there’s an awkward silence as technology struggles to catch up.

“Yes, thank you Megan. Right now, there isn’t very much damage to any main structures in the city, but we don’t know if this was the foreshock or the mainshock just yet. If it was the main shock, we should still expect aftershocks, which we haven’t seen yet, and that’s what makes this so unusual as it was a relatively weak seismic event. If it was a foreshock, we haven’t seen the last of this, and should be prepared for the worst. What makes this really unusual is Gotham isn’t known for earthquakes.”

“When can we assume we’re safe?”

“We can’t. We can only keep an eye out until the aftershocks begin.”

The screen returns to the anchor.

“Thank you Dr. Relazzo, keep us posted. You’ve heard it here on Action News. We’ll be back after the break to give you the morning report and the weather forecast.”

I shut the tv off. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I - I caused an earthquake? I thought that was - fuck. No wonder I’m hungry.

And why is my phone ringing?

“Hello?”

“Ms. Simon you’re late.”

“Oh, Ms. Li.” Fuck. “I’m not going to be able to come in today. I’m not well. I just got up and - I’m having stomach troubles.”

“I was going to tell you not to come in. The  _ small _ earthquake from this morning made the office unstable, and until we can get it habitable again, I thought it would be best to have you just stay home.”

“Oh.”

Fuck. I’m causing all sorts of problems today.

“I’ll send you a message to let you know when to come back.”

Only I don’t think I  _ am _ going to come back. But, I’m not about to tell her that.

“Alright.” 

She hangs up, and I’m left in my apartment - left completely unscathed by my vibrations - and wondering what to do. The news doesn’t seem to think the earthquakes are done, and I briefly wonder if I  _ should _ give them the aftershocks they’re waiting for.

But first, food. I need food. I finish making a sandwich - toast, cheese, and turkey slices - and drink my coffee, trying to not think too much of Red’s hands on me, and -

Nope. 

I shouldn’t think about it, otherwise I’ll never get anything done.

I start with sending small vibrations through the floor - and I can see the whole city shaking just a bit.

I feel only a  _ little _ bad about it.

And then it occurs to me that I still have the piece of robot under my bed. A robot I haven’t tried to link up to my laptop. I went through all that trouble to get AMAZO’s leg, and - I guess I have my project for the day.

I’ve never been more frustrated by a piece of technology in my life. It has very few data files - all encrypted - and is otherwise practically useless scrap.

It might have been better to just leave it to the Bat.

I briefly consider calling them up - just to see their faces when they see it - but decide against it. 

If they were willing to wipe my computer because of information I had on it from Wayne Enterprises  _ that I already knew _ , I’d hate to see what they’d do with the new data I’m getting from this piece of junk. 

And I really don’t feel like rewriting my senior research paper - which is due tomorrow. Even if it’s synced up to the cloud, I don’t trust them. Red Hood - sure. I’ll trust him with this, even if he doesn’t trust me with much. He  _ helped _ me with the paper, but Dick and Tim?

No. Nope. Never.

They’re not getting within ten feet of my computer.

And I don’t need them snooping around my apartment. Chances are they’ll find some evidence to Red’s presence or whatever and then accuse me of crimes against humanity.

_____

It’s a few days later and I’m getting annoyed. I’m getting annoyed because Red Hood hasn’t contacted me. At all. He slept with me and left, and I haven’t heard a word from him since. And I don’t want to sound clingy - because that’s not it at all, but -

What, does he think I do that every day or something, that I’ll just sleep with anyone that crawls into my bed? Or is he scared because of the earthquake?

Because if that’s the case, he has more reason to be scared by avoiding me.

And I’m just so sick of this silent treatment. I swear if I see him and he acts like nothing’s happened I might break his face - or helmet, whatever.

And then I see the nightly news the night before graduation, and I panic a little. Because that’s the Joker there and  _ since when did he get out of Arkham? He was in Arkham, I swear he was - he’s been in Arkham for years now and how the fuck did he get out?! _

“Reporting Live from Gotham Bay Bridge! There’s a multiple car pile up as police are on the scene and the Joker holds hostages in a truck. All lanes are blocked, both southbound and northbound. Beware, the following footage may be graphic.”

Joker’s on top of a truck laughing maniacally. He bows, and then he’s crouching over this opening in the truck and singing about teapots - and they really have great microphones to be able to catch that - while he drops something into the truck. It looks like he’s emptying a jug of some liquid. Knowing what I know of the Joker, it's probably extremely flammable.

Fuck - he’s a maniac. I’ve never actually seen him live before - the DC live action movies do not do him justice - they don’t capture the terror of his insanity. And he’s got something in his hand.

Why are they turning the camera away from him? Are they insane too?! Only, the camera is pointed up where some floodlights are pointed and then there he is - Red Hood. And what the fuck is he doing? He’s standing on the bridge like a maniac or some over dramatic prima donna. It’s like he’s going out of his way to be over the top. Why is he even there?

And then Joker and Red are talking back and forth and I’m struggling to keep up. Because what the fuck? I thought - he never made it seem like Joker was his end goal.

“One second. I’m setting fire to your gang.”

“Go ahead. You think I care if that scum dies?” 

“Don’t know. I just wanted your attention.”

“You’ve always had my attention. But what I really wanted was an  _ audience _ with you.”

Red what are you doing? What the fuck are you doing? Joker’s a maniac, and I’m stuck here at home while you try to get yourself killed? Why on Earth would you  _ do  _ that?

“I’m sorry, that seems to imply that you organized this little clambake.”

“I did. Sure I had lots of plans, but the endgame was getting Black Mask so desperate that he’d cut a deal. He was the only one with the connections to get into Arkham and get you out.”

What the fuck? He really  _ didn’t _ trust me at all, did he?  _ This _ was his plan?

“So I’ve been bamboozled. Oh my.”

“I wouldn’t undersell it. It took a lot of work to bring about our reunion.”

“Reunion? Have we met before?”

“Yes we have.”

His words there are angry. And - and I’ve never heard him like this before. And when did he meet the Joker? Not many people meet the Joker and get away with it - what are talking about Red?

“Well, here’s to warm memories.”

Joker drops something into the truck and the whole thing goes up in flames and I almost think he’s done it - killed more people - and where was Batman? But then there’s a jet - that has to belong to the bat - and it’s putting out the fire.

A long hook seems to grab hold of Joker and he’s being taken away by the jet, when Red grabs a hold. It’s all happening so fast, I can barely keep up - it doesn’t help that the camera man can’t either. And then both Red and Joker fall into the Bay, and I’m sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to see them come up for air.

But they don’t.

“You’ve seen it live, here on Action News. This is a developing story, and we’ll keep you updated.”

What? No! No, no, no!

Red - what the fuck are you doing? You - how stupid could he be? And I slept with that moron?! I - I don’t have words for how stressed I am that night as I keep the news going all night.

I don’t get that much sleep, and the explosion that I hear not too far away makes me almost leave my house and go searching for him.

The only thing that stops me is the fact that Batman is probably near there and as much as Red Hood is important to me, I’m not about to let Batman know Red Hood and I - that we - I don’t even know  _ what _ we are, but I sure as hell don’t want Batman trying to figure it out.

By the time it’s eight o’clock in the morning, I’ve had less than an hour of sleep and I’m getting my cap and gown on. I also get a text from Ms. Li - Black Mask’s in prison, and I need to find another job because it’s not likely he’ll be out any time soon.

_____

I go through graduation in a haze. It was supposed to be in the large arena downtown, but after the earthquake - oops, my bad - it’s been deemed structurally unsound and needs renovations and to be cleared by the Building Code Authority. 

Despite that, graduation is not postponed.  It’s held outside.

I feel a bit guilty (but it’s hard to keep berating myself when it had felt so  _ amazing  _ \- Red Hood felt amazing - and it’s even harder when a large part of me wants to do it again).

I only feel annoyed with myself when it begins raining at the end and everyone runs for cover.

But I have my degree. Kind of. It’s going to be mailed to me.

A small part of me notes that Dick Grayson is not among the names of the graduates - he’s not even listed in the program.

I mean, it’s not like he  _ needs  _ the degree. Whereas I - I need the degree for a job that  _ doesn’t _ involve the mob.

But it still gives an unreasonable amount of pride.

Which brings me to the message on my phone. It’s from Sofia.

_ Where are you? Black Mask’s organization has gone belly up. _

I mean, wasn’t that the plan?

_ I’ve been fired _ . 

I send the message and then leave the apartment to visit Ms. Janet. I need to tell her the news.

“Annie?” She seems surprised to see me.

“Hey.”

“Oh, dear, come in, you look so tired, have you been sleeping well?”

No.

“I got my degree,” I say instead and smile, waving the diploma cover.

She smiles and sets up her tea set, with earl grey and cookies - chocolate chip cookies. Have I mentioned how amazing Ms. Janet is?

I smile and eat them, revelling in the taste and the company. She tells me about her bingo dates with the other widows at the Center for the Less Fortunate. She tells me about this little cat that keeps stopping by her fire escape and how she’s feeding it - she suspects it’s pregnant, and when am I going to give her great grandkids?

I roll my eyes, and try not to think of Red Hood.

“I don’t have  _ time _ for a relationship.” Not if I’m going to take down Luthor. And Red Hood, the only person that even came  _ close  _ to . . . well I don’t even know where he  _ is _ . 

“Well, of course you  _ didn’t _ . You were in school. But now? Now, you get out there and get knocked up. You don’t even need a guy these days to have kids.”

_ Oh my lord, she really went there, how bad does she want me to have a baby? _

I roll my eyes and eat a cookie to keep myself from biting back at her and as she takes a sip of tea, I take a moment to observe her. She looks really sad. As if - as if she wants to say something, but at the same time doesn’t want to put whatever it is into actual words.

My curiosity gets the better of me.

“Why do you want me to have a kid so much?”

She looks at me, eyebrows up, and smiles for a second before she looks down. “I like to think of you like the daughter I never had. Or granddaughter, but I never had either of those. My Michael, God rest his soul, didn’t want children because of how much travel his company had him do. He didn’t think it would make for a good environment.

“I never really regretted it, but . . . now. I’m lonely. And -” she grabs my hand, “I don’t want you to end up like me. Children make life brighter and give you a reason to live - they’re all over the Center and they want mothers or they have mothers that are drug addicts, and - you’d be a good mother.”

No I wouldn’t. I’d ruin someone’s life just like I ruined mom’s.

She pats my hand and we continue to talk about the center.

I leave with a heavier heart than I expected.

My phone buzzes next to me that evening while I’m eating takeout at the dinner table and I don’t even turn to look at it  _ because I’m so hungry _ . More than usual, that is - and isn’t that strange?

My phone buzzes again to remind me of the message and I check my phone to see it’s from Sofia.

_ Daddy wants you back on Monday. _

Fantastic.

I go back because I have nothing better to do at this point. Red hasn’t contacted me. He hasn’t stopped by and - and this is the longest he’s ever gone without stopping by. And I need some busy work so I don’t freak out over the possibility that he might just be dead - because he  _ can’t  _ be dead. He’s not allowed to give me the best night of my life and then die. It’s rude!

It’s not at all because I’ll miss his presence in my kitchen hunched over me as he reaches to add something on my laptop - or his amazing arms or -

No. It’s not at all because of that.

_____

By the time June is half way gone, I completely give Red Hood up for dead - he’s either dead or avoiding me - which is as good as dead at this point.

Which is why it’s a surprise when there’s a knock on my door.

I don’t check the peephole. I keep the chain lock in place and open the door a little.

Only to find a gun and  _ fuck fuck fuck - why the fuck is Joker here? _

“Hello!”

I’m surprised by the force of two guys kicking my door open  _ and ripping the chain from the wall _ . Fuck.

I back up as the psycho comes waltzing into my apartment.

“Do you know the moron who masquerades as Red Hood?” he asks as he points the gun at my face.

“No.”

He looks so surprised at my answer, and he drops his gun, and looking around my apartment.

“Well, what am I supposed to do  _ now.  _ This was supposed to be the place.”

“Why? Are you looking for him?” 

“Well, Bats mentioned a girl when he was talking to the boy wonder. And I figured I’d figure out who she was and pay her a visit. It was something about a childhood friend or lover or whatever. I’ve been tracking everyone in his elementary class down.”

What the fuck is he talking about? Red wasn’t - he wasn’t in my elementary school.

“I already stopped at the other place that has an Annie Simon in property records - I’m going in alphabetical order of the first names, you see.”

Fuck. What is he even talking about? And - Ms. Janet? What did he - 

“What the fuck did you do to Ms. Janet?”

His eyebrows raise and he points the gun back at me.

“Well, now what makes you think I did anything to - Ms. Janet you said?”

He hurt her - he did  _ something  _ \- the psycho _. _

“What the  _ fuck  _ did you do to Ms. Janet?!”

“Now, don’t you think you should watch your language?” 

He’s taking a tour of my apartment now and - he’s getting too close to AMAZO’s leg and -

“What do you want?”

Thank God he turns away from my room, I haven’t hidden the leg at all, and I know it’ll be a big flashing sign, if he sees it, that I know Red.

“Well, I want to know what you know about Red Hood.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He smiles - it’s terrifying really and points the gun at me. I’m almost not fast enough to stop the bullet - definitely not fast enough to send it flying straight back to his head like I want to. And then he’s standing there dumbfounded.

“What happened?” 

He’s trying to use percussive maintenance on the gun, and hitting the grip against his other palm, as if that’ll fix it. As if it was a problem with the gun not going off, even though the shot clearly rang out, and not because I crushed the bullet.

“There’s nothing wrong with your gun.”

He smiles that crazy smile at me.

“What did you do? You’re getting more and more interesting.” 

He leans forward and I raise my hands and point them all three of them.

“Ooh, what are you going to do? Are you going to shoot lasers from your hands or are you going to -”

“Get out of my apartment, and I’ll let you live.”

“You know, it’s impolite to interrupt people.

“It’s also impolite to kill people, but I’m feeling rude today.”

He laughs at that, and I hold back a shiver - I made a joke that made the Joker laugh. That is  _ not  _ an accomplishment to be proud of. It should make me afraid of who I am and who I’m becoming.

“We should have come here first.” He’s telling it to his henchmen, but I know it’s for my benefit. “That way we could have had fun with  _ her  _ instead of the old lady. This girl would have been able to handle it.”

“Fuck you.”

“And she has such a colorful vocabulary.”

His voice is grating on my last nerve.

“And it would be poetic! I killed him, he comes back, he tries to kill me, and I kill his girlfriend. Instead, I just got the grandma of the girlfriend.”

No. Ms. Janet’s okay. I just  _ saw _ her. And who the fuck is he even talking about? Whose girlfriend am I supposed to be? Batman doesn’t know about me and Red.

“You have three seconds.”

“You’re no fun.” He wanders to the cabinet again. And I’ve had enough of this shit. I quickly send vibrations out and all three stumble, falling to the floor. I hope I broke their legs. If not, that’s easily fixed. The distraction allows me to grab the one gun in Jokers hands.

“What -”

He stops talking the moment the gun turns to dust.

“I warned you.”

I punch him in the face and try not to cringe at the feeling of cartilage breaking under my fist.

He’s definitely out, though, so I grab AMAZO’s leg and, stick it in one of my backpacks - I have to vibrate the metal into compliance - and rush out of the apartment.

I’m having a hard time trying to calm down and for a good thirty minutes I sit on a curb with my head between my knees.

I can’t go to Ms. Janet. I can’t go home. Emma and Sarah are off on another Holiday trip to Daytona Beach in Florida for the summer holidays. I don’t know where Red Hood is.

And Black Mask basically fired me.

I really have only one place left to go - Falcone’s office.

_____

It’s quiet and practically abandoned at this time of the night in the office. Mostly because people want to be  _ home _ at eight in the evening.

I slow my breathing, trying not to think about how Ms. Janet’s probably dead  _ and I’m alone again _ , as I head up the stairs and - there’s still  _ people  _ here.

“You think we can trust Annie anymore?” That’s - that’s  _ Mario _ .

I don’t know him well, Sofia’s always been the Falcone I spent more time with.

“Annie’s a smart, loyal girl. Not like her mother. I’m sure we can trust her. And if not, well - just think of how we took care of Mary.”

What? What is he talking about.

“I still feel a little bad about that, dad.”

Bad about what? What are they talking about? What do they mean took care of -

“Mary Simon knew what she was doing when she got mixed up with Lex Luthor.”

“Yeah, but I mean, did we  _ have _ to - I mean - it wasn’t strictly necessary, and she was just trying to take care of her kid.”

“It was a business deal.”

He’s frustrated, I can tell over the sound of papers shuffling. My mom was a business deal?  _ Why was my mom a business deal?! _

“I still don’t think - after all that time she spent with Black Mask’s crew . . . you think she’ll be okay with working here again? I mean, Black Mask had a much larger empire.”

“Oh, please. She was a part of the last days there with Black Mask. She’s been loyal for the four years she’s worked for me, and she did such a good job with this latest assignment.”

“That’s what I’m saying dad. She did a great job  _ infiltrating _ the Black Mask. That  _ can’t _ be a coincidence. She approached  _ you _ . How do you know she’s not a pawn of Luthor? I know it’s different businesses, but -

I’m honestly not trying to eavesdrop. That’s not the reason I’m here. I’m just trying to hide from the Joker.

And now - what? Falcone offed my mom? I thought - I thought that was Luthor.

So I enter the office, close the door, and stare at them. They’ve become very quiet and don’t seem like they want to break the silence.

So I do. 

“What do you mean? When you talked about my mom just now, what do you mean?”

They don’t say anything and the longer they’re quiet the more angry I get.

“What did you fucking mean when you said you mentioned my mom just now?”

I don’t think I’ve cursed that strongly in front of Falcone before.

“Annie,” Falcone says slowly as if trying not to rouse a feral animal. And I get even angrier.

And then Mario brings up his gun, and I laugh.

“Oh, this - this is perfect. You have no idea - do you?”

They look confused now.

“You had my mom killed, didn’t you? For Luthor?”

Mario doesn’t put his gun down, even as Falcone nods. He must feel safe with that gun pointed at me.

And so I nod. But immediately after, the whole building starts to shake. There’s a prickling under my skin as the floor starts to break apart and - Bang - Mario shoots at me only for the bullet to find its way into his skull - spraying blood over his father who barely registers it when a metal beam falls onto his head.

And the room keeps shaking.

I’ve worked for this maniac for four years. And he killed my mom - or had her killed and - 

I sit on the floor while the rest of the building slowly stops shaking and try to understand. Because I thought - my whole life has just been one big lie, hasn’t it?

No matter what I seem to do, they just want to control me and -

Something happens in that moment - I feel the vibrations of five different hearts - and I’ve  _ never _ felt hearts before.

And there was only  _ me _ , right? There should only be  _ one  _ heartbeat.

“Annie?”

I turn to the voice - Sofia? What’s she -  _ that makes two. _

“Annie, what happened?” She rushes into the room, checking her brother - and throwing up when she sees his face. Or lack of one. Whatever.

And then she turns to her father who - he’s still alive?  _ That makes three _ . As Sofia tries to lift the beam - good luck with that - the minutes pass. And soon, I can hear sirens and - I have to get out of here, don’t I?

“Annie, help me!”

Sofia’s distraught, and I feel a little bad because she loves her dad - like I love mom and -

“She’s the one that did this.” It’s quiet, but there. Falcone’s still alive? And awake?

“What? Dad? What are you saying?”

He coughs, and I vaguely register that I should do something. Like finish killing him.

“She’s the one that -” He coughs a couple more times. “- that brought the building down on us.”

“What? Annie? What is dad saying?”

“I brought the building down.”

“Annie?”

She looks confused.

“I brought the building down.” I say it stronger, looking her in the eyes when I say it.

And now she looks angry, and she’s grabbing Mario’s gun, while I just sit here and - why does it even matter anymore? I don’t care. Just - I just want this to be over. I’m tired of being controlled - even if I didn’t realize it. Because  _ fuck _ you, Falcone! I concentrate on his heartbeat and focus on absorbing it -  _ I’ve never done this before? What am I doing? Does this make me a horrible person?  _

And I feel his heartbeat flicker out and stop as I stare at the bullet in Sofia’s gun and see her finger begin to twitch in her hand.

Bang.

Sofia’s got a bullet in her head now and - I didn’t do that.

I turn to see Red. Red - who I haven’t seen in over a month. Red who - last I saw him - was bantering back and forth with Joker on the nightly news. Red - who might -

_ That makes four. _

He lowers his own gun and I’m staring at him and -

“Annie?”

I don’t say anything, and he kneels beside me, grabbing my shoulders.

“Annie, what happened.”

I’m crying and _ I never fucking cry, what is wrong with me? _

“He killed my mom for Luthor. And Ms. Janet’s - she’s - Joker, he -”

The building shakes a bit again.

And he’s still as he seems to process my words before he moves, sticking a bunch of wires and gadgets throughout the room and -

“Let’s go, Annie.”

But I just -

“Come  _ on _ !”

His hand is held out, and this ticking noise is grating and seeming to count down my time and - and he’s still waiting for me to take his hand. He’s putting himself in danger to make sure I’m okay. So I take his hand and follow. We make it a block away before the place blows up.

“Where are we going?”

I ask to fill the silence, not really expecting him to answer.

“Someplace safe.”

And I’m so tired, and I used way too much energy tonight. And I need food.

I faint before we make it three more steps.

I don’t find out who heartbeat number five is.

_____

**The dialogue between Red Hood and Joker is credited to the animated movie Batman: Under the Red Hood.**

**Thus ends** **The Life and Time of a Gotham “Wallflower”**. **Stay tuned for** **The Life and Times of a Would-Be Gotham Anti-Hero** **which will be coming out soon.**

NOTE: Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, etc! I reread them multiple times and it keeps me going!


End file.
